


Liars and Fakes

by BDBriggs



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M, it's got ryan haywood in it so if you're new don't read it but if you want to reminisce it's here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-01-16 20:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDBriggs/pseuds/BDBriggs
Summary: IMPORTANT:I wrote this before Ryan’s ugly parting from the company. I don’t condone what he’s done, at all, whatsoever, but I don’t want to erase the works I’ve created because of his poor choices. Please avoid this if you don't want to read anything with him in it.***Life is good.That’s all Geoff can think as he buttons his dress shirt. Life is damn good. His efforts regarding the Fake AH Crew have really come to fruition in the last few years. He and Jack started off fending for themselves in this shithole of a city; now they have a crew to watch their backs. The Fakes are at the top of the food chain in Los Santos. Geoff’s been handing the B-team more and more responsibilities in the last few years, Trevor especially, with the end goal of being able to sit back and enjoy the ride along with the others. He’s finally sobered up, and is happier and healthier for it.And, he has a date.





	1. Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to begin with an apology for disappearing after promising sequels to several works. I've been at school full time, plus working 21 hours a week, and I have had very little time for personal projects. And then I fell and got hurt and wasn't able to do much at all. I quit my job to have more time to do everything, I'm mostly recovered, and I've finally gotten around to writing some sequels. 
> 
> And an entirely new fic, which I'll publish first, because that's what I wrote 6k words on today. Whoops!
> 
> So here's a fluffy romantic piece that I've had in my head since July. I'm still behind on things because of my injury, so I have no definite posting schedule for this one. We'll all just cross our fingers that I get it out before next year ;)

Life is good.

That’s all Geoff can think as he buttons his dress shirt. Life is _damn_ good. His efforts regarding the Fake AH Crew have really come to fruition in the last few years. He and Jack started off fending for themselves in this shithole of a city; now they have a crew to watch their backs. The Fakes are at the top of the food chain in Los Santos. Geoff’s been handing the B-team more and more responsibilities in the last few years, Trevor especially, with the end goal of being able to sit back and enjoy the ride along with the others. He’s finally sobered up, and is happier and healthier for it.

_And_, he has a date.

It’s like his first date all over again, Geoff muses as he looks himself over in the mirror. He’s been reduced to a pile of nerves and anxiety in human skin. He’s toppled crews, outmaneuvered politicians, taken on the entire police force of Los Santos, and yet here he is _fretting_ over a goddamn date. He’s absolutely terrified that he’ll fuck it up somehow.

The thing is: his date is a _civilian_.

It was an accident, honestly. He met the guy at a fucking coffee shop, of all places, waiting in the absurdly long line together. They made small talk and chatted like normal human beings, and they hit it off immediately. Then one of the coffee machines broke down and the wait turned _even longer_, and Geoff decided to wait out the coffee machine instead of going to another place because the guy was entertaining as hell. Then the guy shyly scrawled his name, Ryan, and his number on Geoff’s cup before he left.

And against his better judgement, Geoff used a burner phone and actually called him, asked him out to dinner at the seafood place on the pier.

It had taken some careful maneuvering to get a night to himself, away from the crew. The guys would absolutely notice if he left the penthouse in anything other than his signature suit, and he can’t exactly leave without them noticing, either. So he’d planned the date for the night after a heist, when the guys would all be out partying. No one would bat an eye if he said he’d prefer to stay home, opting out of barhopping with the rest of them.

With a few last adjustments to his collar, Geoff grabs his jacket and leaves the penthouse. He’d dressed in a wine-red dress shirt and black dress pants, with a black leather jacket to go over for when the sea air inevitably grows cold. He’s not the Kingpin tonight. All Geoff wants is to have a normal date with a normal person. He’s not stupid; this date won’t end in a relationship, he knows, but it’s nice to have this while it lasts. It’s incredibly difficult to date a criminal. You can never be sure if you can trust them unless they’re in your crew, and Geoff’s not real keen on dating anyone in his crew.

This is the closest Geoff has come to normalcy in a long, long time. It’s just _nice_, he decides.

He takes the Zion Cabrio out. It’s nondescript enough that he shouldn’t be recognized with it, especially compared to the bright pink fleet of cars that make up the rest of his garage. Geoff escapes from the penthouse without a hitch, even gets to the restaurant a few minutes before his reservation.

The sun is just beginning to set, the sky turning all sorts of pretty pinks and oranges, the restless waves reflecting the bright hues. He takes a moment to lean against the railing of the pier and admire the view, snapping a couple pictures on his phone, aware that he can’t show his crew until later to avoid them finding out about his date.

“You couldn’t have chosen a better night,” someone says behind him, “seriously. The sunset’s gorgeous.”

Geoff grins. “Yeah,” he says, turning around, “I totally planned it this way. Date on the fourteenth, because the sunset is going to be _perfect_ that night.”

Ryan walks up to lean on the railing beside him, grinning widely. “Uh huh. What are you, omniscient?” Ryan asks, but he butchers _omniscient_ so badly that the word is almost unrecognizable, and then scowls. “Fuck.”

Geoff’s grin turns a little lopsided as he tries not to laugh. “You all right there, buddy?”

Ryan _pouts_, for lack of a better word. “I can’t fucking talk,” he mutters darkly.

Geoff loses the battle and laughs aloud. “_Omniscient?_” He asks, saying the word exaggeratedly slowly.

Ryan’s face does this adorable thing where it scrunches up in a way that’s probably supposed to look ferocious, but really just puffs up his cheeks a bit. Geoff laughs again, loud and whooping, growing louder when Ryan shoves at him a little.

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, “that was too fucking funny. Do you want to go in?”

Ryan sighs heavily, but he’s grinning, too, so Geoff counts it as a win. “Sure,” he says, “hopefully we can get a place by the window so we can watch the rest,” he gestures towards the sunset.

Geoff decides not to mention that he asked for a window spot when he made the reservations, just lets the waitress lead them there so he can see the way Ryan’s face lights up. They’re situated on the little balcony of the restaurant with the sunset to one side, only blinding them a little.

“Y’know, I’ve lived here for years and have never eaten here,” Ryan says thoughtfully, “what’s good here?”

Geoff blinks owlishly. “You’ve never eaten here?” Ryan shakes his head mutely. “Dude! It’s one of the best seafood places in LS.”

Ryan shrugs sheepishly. “I don’t eat out a lot,” he says, “and…I don’t eat much seafood.”

Geoff’s heart sinks. He’d been doing so _well_ so far, of course he fucks up something major. Ryan doesn’t eat seafood. “You don’t like seafood?” He asks, just for clarification. There are other things on the menu, Geoff thinks frantically, he can salvage this.

“I grew up in Georgia,” Ryan says. “I dunno, I just never ate much of it.” He gives the menu a long, pondering look. “Any suggestions on what to try?”

Geoff takes a deep breath. Maybe he didn’t fuck it up after all, especially if Ryan’s open to _trying_ seafood. “Well there’s fish ‘n chips or fried shrimp, if you’re from the south and like fried food,” he says.

“We don’t eat _only_ fried food in the south, y’know,” Ryan says dryly.

Geoff laughs and holds his hands up placatingly. “Dude, I’m from Alabama, that and barbeque are _absolutely_ all we eat in the south.”

They laugh together and it’s _nice_, it’s _easy_. Ryan is delightfully easy to talk to, Geoff discovers. Both of them offer up tidbits of information about themselves and it’s not like pulling teeth, as Geoff feared. He has a carefully constructed cover story for himself already; he’s a manager at a local company (which technically isn’t a _lie_, exactly, it’s just nowhere near the whole truth) and has no family around since he moved to LS from the south. Their food arrives and they keep talking, no awkward silences or _anything_.

“What do you do for a living?” Geoff asks, because he’s genuinely curious, and he’s confident enough in his cover story that he feels he can handle it if the question gets turned on him.

Ryan hums and sets his fish down. “IT,” he says with a dry little smile, “It can be boring work, but it’s my own business and I can make my own hours, so it suits me just fine.”

Geoff is hit by the fact that Ryan is so _normal_, and it makes him giddy for some reason. “If it’s boring, why stick with it?”

Ryan shrugs. “Gotta do _something_ to make a living,” he says, “and I’m good with computers. May as well, right?” Geoff concedes the point. He _will not_ point out that Gavin and Matt are good with computers, too, that they found an exciting and lucrative and _dangerous_ way to make a living. “What about you?” Ryan asks.

“I’m a manager for a local company here,” Geoff says, “I wrangle idiots all day.”

Ryan laughs brightly. “Oh, I do _not_ envy you,” he says, “how bad are they?”

Geoff groans. “You have no idea,” he says mournfully, “I’m going grey already just _thinking_ about it.”

He launches into a story of the pranks that took place just that week in the penthouse; Gavin discovered the party-popper-under-the-toilet-lid trick and kept them all on edge. And Geoff is fucking delighted, because Ryan thinks it’s the funniest goddamn thing ever and laughs so hard he _wheezes_, little giggles escaping in between.

By the time they leave the restaurant, Geoff’s cheeks hurt from grinning and laughing so much. The air is cold by the ocean, the wind biting, making Geoff glad he brought a jacket. It’s not a bad night, though, and Ryan doesn’t seem bothered by the cold with his own jacket.

“Do you want to walk along the beach?” Geoff asks, reluctant for the night to end just yet.

Ryan hums thoughtfully and looks out at the sand. He’s quiet for a long moment, just long enough that Geoff begins to worry. “Do you mind if we stop by my car first?” Ryan asks.

Geoff frowns at the odd request. “No, not at all,” he says, because maybe Ryan wants to grab an extra jacket or change his shoes or something. Ryan’s a civilian, he reminds himself. There’s no reason to be so suspicious. They walk together down the pier towards the parking lot. And Geoff hadn’t noticed it before, but Ryan walks a little on the slow side, forcing Geoff to slow down to keep pace. Their easy conversation from the restaurant flows naturally again, and they share little anecdotes as they walk to Ryan’s car. When they get there, Ryan shuffles for something in the passenger seat and Geoff flinches when he pulls something large out, halfway expecting a weapon.

It’s a cane.

Geoff gives it a long, lingering look, because it’s a _cane_. It doesn’t…it doesn’t quite make sense.

“Used to be an athlete,” Ryan says by way of explanation. “Fucked up my knee spectacularly. It’s easier to walk for long distances if I have this to lean on.”

Oh. _Oh_. That explains the slow walk across the pier. The uneven boards probably hurt like hell to walk across, too. Ryan’s cheeks have a dusting of red across them, Geoff notices, and _shit_, Ryan’s probably embarrassed to admit to his date that he walks with a cane.

“Oh! Shit dude,” Geoff scrambles, “do you wanna sit down on the sand instead?” A long walk on the uneven sand of the beach is probably murder for the poor guy’s knee.

Ryan smiles shyly at him. “No, it’s alright! I’ll be just fine.”

They take off their shoes and walk barefoot across the cool sand. “You mentioned you were in theater,” Geoff muses, “you were an athlete, too?”

Ryan laughs a little sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Football, until I fucked up my knee in a game. I loved theater much more, though. Tend to talk about that first.”

“Will your knee be like this forever?” Geoff asks, because Ryan didn’t give a time frame for when it happened, and he’s not going to press, but he’s curious as to if he’ll ever get better.

Ryan shrugs. “It’s possible I might be able to get surgery again to fix it up, get it working better than it’s working now. But that’s…well.” Ryan heaves a sigh. “Finding a doctor able to do the surgery is expensive, and the physical therapy even more so.” he admits, and Geoff’s heart twists painfully, “I just decided to retire from being an athlete. Working in IT’s not so bad, though it’s nowhere near as exciting.”

“Shit, dude,” Geoff says, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ryan says, and he flashes a little grin at Geoff. “Didn’t mean to bring the mood down, or anything.”

Geoff shakes his head. “No, no, I asked! Don’t worry about it.”

They turn around and head slowly back to the pier, admiring the way the lights of the Ferris Wheel flash against the night sky. The conversation turns to lighter things, both of them smiling and laughing brightly again by the time they reach Ryan’s car.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Ryan says, shoving his cane back onto the passenger seat of his pickup truck. “I haven’t gone on a date in a long time, and this was a lot of fun.”

Geoff grins. Apparently he didn’t fuck it up after all. “Dude, same here. I really enjoyed this. Maybe we could do it again sometime soon?”

Ryan _beams_ at him. “I’d love that,” he says softly. “I know a good steak place in Vespucci?”

“That sounds great,” Geoff says, floored, because holy _shit_ he just scored a second date.

Life is _grand_.


	2. Goddamn Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Geoff’s initial intentions, two dates turns into three, which turns into ten, which turns into a relationship. Months go by in the blink of an eye and suddenly they’re in a committed relationship.
> 
> He might be a little bit fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am officially caught up on all the work I missed from my injury, so I might actually get this out on a weekly posting schedule. Look for a chapter every Friday!

Despite Geoff’s initial intentions, two dates turns into three, which turns into ten, which turns into a relationship. Months go by in the blink of an eye and suddenly they’re in a committed relationship.

He might be a little bit fucked.

* * *

Ryan is too sweet for this world, Geoff decides.

It sounds cliché. It sounds gooey, sappy, overly romantic, Geoff knows, but it rapidly becomes apparent as time goes on. Dry wit aside, Ryan is one of those people who just _always_ seems to look on the bright side of things. He’s not obnoxiously joyous or anything, not like Trevor’s eerie perpetual cheer, but the glass is always half full for Ryan, especially about his injury.

Geoff finds himself feeling awful for Ryan’s lot in life, getting injured badly enough that it affects everything he does. He doesn’t want to pity the guy, but he can’t help feeling a twinge in his chest every time Ryan stands up stiffly, or hisses in pain, or asks to find an elevator to avoid the stairs. Ryan’s so…_blasé_ about it, though; and that little twinge Geoff feels begins to lessen with time.

It’s the little things. Like Ryan cheerfully suggesting they take his truck so that they can take advantage of the handicap parking when they go downtown. Or Ryan cheekily stretching his legs across Geoff’s lap on the couch one night, with the excuse that he should elevate his knee. Or when he dresses up as a wizard for Halloween, specifically so he can use a fancy staff to lean on instead of his cane.

Geoff learns to stop feeling sorry for Ryan and starts being accommodating instead. He knows to grab a hot pack as soon as they go back to Ryan’s place after a long day, especially if there was much walking involved. He learns to look for the way Ryan’s face pinches tight when the pain gets especially bad, figures out that mild painkillers and couch cuddles help the most. Their dates shift from mostly outdoors activities to mostly indoors. They still go out for dinner and do cheesy couple things like take walks on the beach and all that jazz, but ordering takeout and playing video games at Ryan’s place is both just as fun _and_ easier for Ryan to do.

Date night is every Friday, so long as Geoff can help it. Sometimes they shift it to Saturday if the crew has plans, but Geoff manages a miracle and gets most Friday evenings off to spend time with Ryan. The crew notices, of course. They not-so-subtly push their noses where they don’t belong. Jack seems to catch on the most; to her, Geoff’s secrecy is more telling than if he’d admitted anything out loud. The lads spectate wildly. Maybe he’s got a secret contact that he meets with, Gavin suggests. Or he’s gotten tired of the Fakes and takes Friday night off to be alone, Michael says dryly. Or maybe he bought a yacht that he hasn’t told anyone about yet, Trevor says, because the little shit has access to the expense reports.

(Sue him. Geoff totally bought a yacht that he hasn’t told anyone about yet. The destructive little fuckers in his crew would sink it in an hour.)

Jack slyly remarks that maybe Geoff has a girlfriend. And she’s got the closest guess so far, doesn’t she? But she’s still off by a mile.

And speaking of yachts, _money_ is another thing that bothers Geoff about Ryan. It’s not that Geoff’s upset by Ryan’s lack of status, or whatever—_far_, far from it. It’s just—Geoff wishes he could pay for everything Ryan ever needs. It hurts sometimes, to watch Ryan admit he can’t afford something. Geoff absolutely wants to shower Ryan with riches and gifts and expensive things like front row seats at shows, or that fancy watch Ryan was eyeing, or expensive steak dinners every week, but he _can’t_, and it hurts sometimes.

Ryan’s not exactly poor. He lives in a nice two-bedroom house in a safe neighborhood, which is actually pretty expensive in Los Santos. He drives a standard pickup truck, but he also owns a second car. Geoff’s been in his garage, has seen the low-riding car hidden beneath a cover in the back of the garage. The car is clearly something expensive, but Ryan never drives it or acknowledges it, so Geoff is left guessing to exactly what it is. He’s pretty sure Ryan owns a motorcycle, too; there’s something small underneath a cover in a cluttered corner of the garage, but Geoff can never see it well enough to be sure. It hits him one day that Ryan probably can’t physically ride a motorcycle anymore, so he guiltily keeps his mouth shut and tries not to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Eventually, Geoff comes to the conclusion that Ryan _used_ to be more well-off than he is now. He wonders, not for the first time, if Ryan was an actual professional athlete. He never gave an actual timeframe for his injury, so for all Geoff knows, it could have been a few years ago. “Ryan Haywood” turns up nothing but his IT website when he googles it, though, so Geoff hits a dead end with that line of reasoning. _Clearly_ Ryan made good money at one point in his life, before he worked IT.

But what happened to change that?

Geoff’s got better manners than to ask, and Ryan never volunteers the information. It’s frustrating and painful and all Geoff wants is to _help_ but he _can’t_, because Ryan’s not the only one with secrets.

As far as Geoff can tell, Ryan doesn’t know that he’s the Kingpin of the Fakes. He’s been so, so careful to avoid looking like the Kingpin. He’s got a separate wardrobe for his dates with Ryan. He drives a car that isn’t too expensive (or pink). He’d shaved his signature moustache shortly before meeting Ryan, and cycles through various stages of scruff and beards to keep from having a standard look again. The Kingpin wears masks a lot more on jobs, just in case a lucky camera gets a good view of his face.

There are pictures of the Kingpin out there, of course. One google search on Ryan’s part could ruin _everything_. Geoff’s careful, the _Fakes_ are careful, but there’s only so much they can do against the internet. Thankfully so far, despite Ryan’s tech skills, nothing has come up about the Kingpin or the Fakes.

So Geoff’s careful, but he tries not to be paranoid. He and Ryan have a good thing going and he doesn’t want to ruin it, so he tries not to let the secrecy drive him insane. He just can’t shower Ryan with money the way he wants to.

And look. Ryan knows that Geoff’s rich. It’s obvious in his clothes, his date suggestions, his attempts to pay for everything so Ryan doesn’t have to. Ryan’s not dumb, and Geoff knows it. It’s just…it’s one of those things they both try to avoid. So Ryan doesn’t mention their difference in money, doesn’t ask for help, and Geoff tones his date ideas down a notch. They still go to shows, they just sit in more affordable seats. They still go for steak dinners, because Ryan fucking _loves_ steak, but they only go every other month or so. Geoff still tries to pay for the more expensive things, but Ryan will have _none _of that and always pays half.

Stubborn, stubborn creature.

It starts to eat away at Geoff, though. Not the money, exactly, though it still bothers him somewhat. The Kingpin-Geoff secrecy lingers like a shadow, follows him on every date, slinks around every corner; just out of sight but so oppressively _there_ that Geoff can’t take his mind off of it.

One google search could ruin everything. One lucky cameraman could out him. An ally or enemy of the Kingpin could spot him with Ryan at any time. Ryan could suddenly have an epiphany if Geoff wears the wrong clothes. The list of ways Geoff could be found out is endless, and it terrifies him.

Geoff realizes that he has to grow a pair and tell Ryan. The thought comes to him late one date night, when he and Ryan are stretched out along the couch together. Netflix plays quietly on the TV, but it’s background noise. They’re cuddling. They’re grown men, they’re _cuddling_, and it’s pretty much the best thing ever. Geoff wants to stay like this forever, but he could lose this, he realizes. If he stays quiet about who he is and Ryan finds out on his own, he _will_ lose this.

He has to tell Ryan. The thought makes his stomach churn, makes a pit of dread settle in his chest.

Geoff tightens his arms around Ryan, briefly, relaxing when Ryan hugs him back. He’ll explain everything, he decides. Just not quite yet.

* * *

It’s a Thursday night when everything goes to hell.

Geoff really fuckin’ hates sellouts. He hates being betrayed, stabbed in the back, thrown to the wolves. Thank god he has a crew he trusts, but _goddamn_ it sucks when their supposed allies fuck them over.

He, Jack, and Michael get royally fucked when their “ally” turns on them. One moment they’re hiding from the LSPD at a safehouse in their ally’s territory, the next moment they’re scattering as an armored truck bursts through the goddamn wall.

Fucking _fuck_, Geoff hates his job sometimes.

Gavin’s squawking something at them over the comms, something about a getaway vehicle and five minutes, _just hold on for five minutes_, but Geoff barely registers it over his racing mind. The door in the front of the house is still there, but there’s debris in the way that would be difficult to vault over. The hole in the wall is about to be swarming with gang members. The window behind him is his best bet, he decides, and he scrambles for it.

And look. Geoff is quick, despite his age. He runs fast, and his skinny build makes him pretty agile. But between the two sellout allies in the kitchen and the dozen or so rival gang members bursting into the house, someone manages to get off a shot that’s quicker than he is.

Geoff’s halfway out the window when the bullet hits him; it and the resulting fall knock the wind out of him. He sprawls gracelessly on the ground outside, wills himself to move, because _fuck_, he’ll die here if he doesn’t. He dimly registers shouting, scrambles to his hands and knees, and flinches hard when someone grabs him by the arm.

It’s Jack. Thank fucking _god_, it’s just Jack. She hauls him to his feet and they stagger away from the safehouse together, heading towards the dimly lit alleys in hopes of losing any pursuers. Michael materializes on his other side, loops Geoff’s other arm over his shoulder, guides them away from the chaos of the safehouse.

“How bad is it?” Jack grunts, trying to take as much of his weight as she can.

Geoff’s still a little winded, and probably too high on adrenaline to give an accurate report of his injury, but he knows one thing for sure. “The vest caught it,” he assures her breathlessly, “it just knocked the goddamn wind out of me. Hit me right in the ribs.”

Jack breathes a sigh of relief. “I saw you hit the ground,” she says, “the way you fell didn’t help.”

Geoff scowls. “_You_ try landing on your feet after getting shot,” he grumbles, resisting the urge to flip her off. Jack, damn her, just laughs at him.

They emerge from the alley into the bright lights of Los Santos. Jack puts her elbow through the window of the first parked car they see and makes quick work of starting the thing. Geoff sinks into the passenger seat gingerly, lets her drive him and Michael back to the penthouse.

Their enemies will pay for tonight, Geoff knows. His mind already races with strategies, plans, ways to fuck them over in a heartbeat. By the end of the night, he’ll have a plan to wipe them all out. Tomorrow he’ll tell Trevor, who will set everything into motion.

But for now? Geoff puts an arm around his aching ribs and turns up the radio, sings along with his crew for the rest of the drive. Now is the time to revel in the fact that he’s _alive_.

* * *

The sentiment carries on through the next day. He wakes up thankful to be alive, that his vest did its job, that he’s got nothing worse than some nasty bruising along his side. Trevor spends most of the day in the heist room with him, sorting through intel and making plans to wipe out their former allies. Geoff barely notices the passage of time, hellbent on making those fucking sellouts _pay_ for what they did, until Jack enters the room with one brow raised.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She asks pointedly. And fuck, it’s _Friday_. Geoff has a date in half an hour and they were supposed to go play darts up in Sandy Shores.

_Fuck_.

“Fuck,” Geoff swears aloud. He stands gingerly, thanks Jack, and heads to his room to change out of his suit. Excuses run through his head, _I got into a fight, I fell down the stairs, I fell while wrestling Gavin_, until he takes a good look at himself in the mirror. His hands and knees are scraped from when the truck burst through the wall and he dove to the floor to avoid flying debris. His left side is bruised in a splotchy dark circle. He’s got little cuts everywhere from busting through the window and then landing in the glass.

Besides looking like shit, he honestly looks like he’s been in a fight. Ryan’s not dumb. One good look, and Ryan will know something happened. There’s no way Geoff can avoid all the questions, there’s just no hiding it.

Geoff has two options. He can cancel date night and hope he looks better by next week, or he can suck it up and tell Ryan the truth.

And goddammit, Geoff hates being a coward.

* * *

“What happened to _you_?” Ryan demands the moment he opens the door.

Geoff shows up in a T-shirt and jeans, bandages on his arm and little band-aids on his face, arm curled protectively around his ribs. He smiles weakly. “Can we sit down? I feel like shit.”

Ryan frowns, obviously concerned, and for once it’s _Ryan_ ushering _him_ to the couch, grabbing blankets and fussing. Geoff sinks down with a pained hiss, leans back carefully against the cushions. Ryan hovers for a moment, nearly wringing his hands, before sitting down carefully next to him.

“Yeah,” Ryan says slowly, “we’re not going for darts tonight.”

Geoff smiles ruefully. “I don’t think I’m up for it,” he admits.

“What happened?” Ryan says, eyeing the bandages, concern etched into the lines of his face.

Geoff sighs. “I…I need to tell you something,” he says instead. “I didn’t exactly _lie_ to you, but I haven’t told you the whole truth, and I can’t stand to keep it from you anymore.” Ryan’s eyes narrow slightly, but he looks more wary than angry.

“Okay,” Ryan says. “I’ll listen.”

It’s more than Geoff deserves. _Ryan_ is more than Geoff deserves, this stupidly adorable, funny, sweet human being. Ryan’s just as much of an idiot as his crew is, to be fair, but Geoff loves him all the more for it.

Geoff takes a deep breath. “I’m a criminal,” he says bluntly. “I got attacked last night by a rival.”

Ryan’s brows furrow. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly.

And—that’s not what Geoff expected at _all_. “I—yes?” He scratches the stubble on his cheek, unsure of what to say. “Um, I’m—I’ll be fine.”

Ryan deflates at that, lets out this relieved _whoosh_ of a breath. “Okay,” he says, “okay.”

“Okay?” Geoff asks, because there’s _no way in hell_ Ryan is totally fine with this.

Ryan rocks forward and hugs him. “Fuck,” he mutters in Geoff’s ear, “_fuck_. I was so worried when I saw the bandages. You’re okay? Did you get shot?”

“The vest caught it. I’m okay,” Geoff says again, wraps his arms around Ryan and holds him carefully, mindful of the bruise on his side. “Are _you_ okay?” He asks, because he needs to know, he needs to understand what’s going on in Ryan’s head about the whole _criminal_ thing he just admitted.

Ryan takes a deep breath and leans back. He grasps both of Geoff’s shoulders tightly, but it isn’t restraining or angry. It feels, more than anything, like Ryan’s trying to _keep_ him there, trying to stop him from running or disappearing or keeling over. “I knew you had…money,” Ryan admits after a while. “I didn’t want to assume the worst, but this is Los Santos. I had an inkling of what you could have done to get rich.” Ryan offers a wry grin. “You have a good cover story, but it’s almost too good. Too clean. I knew something was up, but I didn’t care enough to dig. I didn’t want to screw things up.”

Geoff’s stomach does somersaults. He reaches out and gently cups Ryan’s cheek, unsure of what to say to that.

Ryan leans into his hand, but he looks down. “Besides,” he mutters, “you’re not the only one with secrets.”

And Geoff knows. He’s seen the car and motorcycle covered and left in the back of the garage, knows they’re from an age when Ryan had more money than he has now. The house and the neighborhood it’s in are telling enough; few people can afford to buy safety in this shithole of a city.

“Yeah,” Geoff says, “I figured that, too. You don’t—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, because that’s important. Just because _he_ was ready to share his deep, dark secret doesn’t mean _Ryan’s_ ready to share his, and that’s okay.

Ryan looks up guiltily, and _no_, Geoff is absolutely not having any of that. “I’m serious,” Geoff says, “I get it. I’ve been trying to grow a pair to tell you for the entire eight months we’ve been dating. Just because _I’m_ ready doesn’t mean _you_ are.” He huffs. “And fuck, dude, if you want to die with your secret, that’s up to you. I’m not gonna drag it out of you or some bullshit like that.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Ryan says, voice cracking. He has tears in his eyes, actual goddamn tears, and Geoff wants to wipe them away and make sure they never, ever come back.

Geoff leans forward and holds Ryan to him tightly. “Pretty sure that’s my line, jackass,” he says. Ryan huffs, but hugs back just as tightly. And it’s easy, really, to mumble, “I love you,” into Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t go quiet, doesn’t do anything awkward to brush it off or reject him. “I love you too,” he says back, voice equally muffled by Geoff’s shirt.

It’s pretty goddamn perfect.

* * *

Geoff drives Ryan to a quiet spot on the beach up on the north side of the island a couple of dates later. They take Ryan’s pickup, back it onto the sand, and spread a thick blanket over the cold metal of the bed. Laden with burgers and fries, they sit shoulder-to-shoulder and watch the sun sink below the waves, protected from the chilly wind by jackets and another blanket spread over their legs.

There’s nobody on the beach around them, and they’re protected from view of the freeway by the trees, so they spend a comfortable amount of time smooching before it gets dark enough for them to see stars in the sky. Then they lay on their backs, blanket drawn up to their chins, and watch the stars and satellites and the occasional shooting star. It’s one of the better dates they’ve been on, honestly, and it’s one Geoff will cherish forever. Especially the way Ryan curls into him for warmth, and the relaxed atmosphere between them.

But Geoff still feels like he needs to get something off his chest. He still hadn’t told Ryan the _full_ truth about himself. Admitting his criminal status had been a huge weight off his chest, but he still needs to get the rest of it out. He hates that Ryan doesn’t know. He hates keeping details from him, hates not being able to tell him about his shitty day at work when the majority of his shitty days get caught on camera by various news stations.

“I can hear you thinking,” Ryan says at last, interrupting his thoughts.

Geoff snorts. “You mean you could hear my heart rate go up as I worked myself up about something.”

“Same thing,” Ryan says, smiling up at him bemusedly. “What’s up?”

Geoff leans down to kiss him once, for courage. “I wanted to tell you the rest of my horrible, no-good secret,” he says.

Ryan’s brow furrows. “Are you sure?” He asks, catching on immediately, “I understand if you want to keep your identity secret. It’s probably safer for you, that way.”

And Ryan’s not wrong, exactly. It would be safer for both of them if Ryan remains blissfully unaware of Geoff’s identity, of Geoff’s crew. But beyond _safety_, that’s not what Geoff wants. “I want to be able to tell you about things,” Geoff says slowly. “Nothing that could endanger me or my crew, just.” He chews his lip in thought. “I want to be able to tell you about things that matter to me. About how my day went, even if it was caught on the news. About all the dumb shit my crew pulls, _especially_ if it ends up on the news.”

Ryan chuckles. “Okay,” he says, “I can’t argue with that.”

Geoff shifts so he can see Ryan’s face better. “I—I’m the Kingpin,” he blurts. “I’m the Kingpin of the Fakes.”

Something bright and panicked flits across Ryan’s face, lightning-fast before it’s gone, tucked away. “Holy shit,” Ryan says quietly, eyes widening. “Jesus _christ_, Geoff.”

Geoff’s heart sinks. “Did—did I fuck this up?” He asks quietly, because Ryan looked _afraid_ of him in that second.

“No,” Ryan says, quiet but firm. “I just. For some reason I didn’t expect that.” He squints. “Suddenly I feel like an idiot, though, for not realizing,” he admits, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “I can see it now.”

Geoff laughs. “It’s amazing how different I look with a shave and a change of clothes,” he says, nudging Ryan gently in the ribs.

Ryan snorts, eyes lighting up with mirth instead of fear, and Geoff relaxes. “Wait,” Ryan says, “wait, wait, wait. So you’re telling me, you and your crew were behind that bank robbery on the twenty-third last month?”

“Uhhh…” Geoff blinks, because yeah, that was them. “Yes?”

Ryan’s eyes narrow. “You fucker!” He yells, “I was _in_ that bank!”

“Well _I _didn’t know that,” Geoff protests, voice raising in return.

“Warn a guy next time!” Ryan yells, and Geoff just laughs and laughs in return, because _quiet_ Ryan is an upset Ryan; _yelling_ Ryan is just going along with his bullshit.

Geoff loves his life, his crew, and his goddamn amazing boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


	3. Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June comes up out of nowhere, and suddenly Geoff’s aware of his birthday looming closer. He and his crew usually blow something up, or make up a wild and dangerous game to play with lots of property damage involved, or something equally as entertaining. This year, though? He doesn’t want to go out and blow shit up with his crew.
> 
> He wants to spend the day with Ryan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week, but next week's will be twice as long to even it out.

June comes up out of nowhere, and suddenly Geoff’s aware of his birthday looming closer. He and his crew usually blow something up, or make up a wild and dangerous game to play with lots of property damage involved, or something equally as entertaining. This year, though? He doesn’t want to go out and blow shit up with his crew.

He wants to spend the day with Ryan.

The thought throws him for a loop so badly he almost doesn’t know what to do. His crew won’t let him slink away quietly; they’ll try to drag him on an adventure, Jack will try to get forty-one birthday spanks on him, and the lads will insist on getting drunk in his honor. It’s just how things go with the crew.

But Geoff wants Ryan to be there, too. He longs for it so goddamn badly it almost hurts.

So after a meeting in the heist room, Geoff clears his throat. “I’d like to ask you all a favor,” he says, aware that the statement sounds a little overdramatic.

“Is this about the explosions last night?” Gavin asks, squawking when Michael elbows him _hard_ in the ribs.

Geoff’s eye twitches, and Trevor looks over at the pair with keen eyes that miss _nothing_. “I don’t even want to know,” Geoff decides after a moment. If it wasn’t destructive enough for him to have heard about until now, it’s probably best to let that one go. “No, it’s about my birthday.”

“Forty-one birthday spanks!” Jack cheers, the psychopath, “somebody put lotion on the grocery list!”

The crew breaks down into juvenile snickering, and Geoff just rolls his eyes. “I want three things for my birthday, and three things only,” he says firmly.

It quiets down quickly, the heist room. Geoff doesn’t usually ask for anything; he has enough money to buy himself whatever he wants, and a day with his crew is the usual solution. When he has everyone’s attention, he sighs.

“First, I want to be able to tell you all something without being judged for it,” he begins, ignoring the way everyone’s eyebrows shoot through the roof.

“Okay,” Jack says, catching on to the gravity of the statement. “I think we can do that.”

Geoff plows on. “Second, I want to have a party on my yacht.”

The room erupts into chaos, half of the crew shrieking at him and the other half laughing.

“A _yacht_?!” Gavin squeaks, clearly torn between laughter and indignation. “You bought a _yacht_?”

Trevor leans back in his chair, smiles thinly. “He most certainly did!” He says, in that eerily calm way of his that holds a threat for later. And Geoff ignores Trevor, ignores the steely look on his face, ignores the fact that he’s not happy with recent expense reports. Honestly, _fuck_ the expense reports, he wanted a damn yacht and so he bought one. _Sue him_.

“What’s the third thing?” Jeremy asks, still laughing, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Geoff grins and folds his hands on the table. “I’d like to bring my civilian boyfriend to this party, and you’re all going to be nice to him.”

And wow, If Geoff thought the room was chaos when he brought up the yacht? He was so, so wrong.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Jack asks, hours later, after the figurative dust has settled.

Geoff sighs and leans back in his chair. “About what, Jack?” He mutters, although he knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“About dating a civilian,” Jack clarifies. “It’s…not bound to end well.”

Geoff mulls that over. He’d known in the beginning that dating a civilian was risky, that it would likely end up in heartbreak for both of them, and that it could put Ryan in serious danger. “I know,” he mumbles, “I know, it’s just…” He trails off, tries to choose his words carefully, and gives up. “It’s nice,” he says at last. “It’s just nice. It’s normal. It’s really, really nice.”

Jack sighs. “You’re putting him in danger,” she says. “You can’t protect him from our enemies, and he can’t protect himself.”

“I know,” Geoff says mournfully, “I try my best to not look like the Kingpin when I’m with him. A keen eye could recognize me, I know, but I try to be careful.”

They sit in silence for a while. “What’s he like?” Jack asks, at last.

Geoff’s lips stretch slowly into what he knows is a dopey grin. “He’s sweet,” he says. “He’s got this dry wit. Always looks on the bright side of things, though. He has this old injury that hurts him all the time, keeps him from doing a lot of things, but he never lets it bother him. He’s smart as hell, but mangles words horribly. He’s goofy, and he’ll stuff his face with donuts given the chance, and he’s a total nerd.”

“You’re fucked,” Jack says simply.

“Yeah,” Geoff says, still grinning, “yeah I am.”

Honestly, bringing it up to the crew was the hard part. Now all he has to do is bring it up to Ryan.

And Ryan?

Ryan’s easy.

“You want me to meet your crew?” Ryan asks through a mouthful of kolache, because Geoff’s not above a little bribery.

Geoff hums. “I want you to spend my birthday on my yacht with me and my crew,” he clarifies.

Ryan thinks while he chews, then eyes the bag Geoff set on the counter. Geoff wordlessly pushes the bag towards him, and he grabs it and starts in on another kolache. “I could do that,” he muses.

And then.

“You have a _yacht_?!”

So it’s easy. Well. Relatively easy. Literally everyone ever gives Geoff a headache about buying a yacht. His crew gives him shit about dating a civilian, about dating anybody at all, about managing to keep a secret from them for just over ten months. Ryan’s weirdly chill about meeting the most infamous criminals in Los Santos.

Life moves on.

Geoff’s birthday dawns bright and cheerful. He sleeps over at Ryan’s house, partly to enjoy waking up to his boyfriend on his birthday, partly to avoid getting woken up by Jack attempting to get a head start on the birthday spanks.

Win-win.

Ryan makes waffles, and they spend a lazy morning watching TV together. Geoff knows his crew will gladly start partying without him, though, and he wants to show Ryan around the yacht before his crew gets there, so they get ready, pack their swim trunks, and head to the airport. Geoff’s luxury helicopter waits there for him, pilot absent to afford them privacy.

And yeah, okay, maybe Geoff should have told Ryan that he knows how to pilot a helicopter beforehand?

Ryan plants his feet when he realizes there’s no pilot. “Nope,” he says, crossing his arms, “nuh uh. Not getting in.”

Geoff sighs internally, but does his best to be as reassuring as possible. “I know how to fly it,” he promises, “It’s my helicopter. I’ve flown it before.”

Ryan squints at him. “Don’t you use Jack as your pilot?” He asks, suspicion lacing his voice.

And yes, Ryan’s not wrong. Jack’s a way better pilot than Geoff—she’s their getaway pilot for a reason—but he knows how to pilot a helicopter. Beyond that, he’d never even think of doing something to put Ryan in danger. If it wasn’t safe to fly a chopper to his yacht, they’d be taking a different route. “The only way I’m gonna crash this thing is if we get shot at,” Geoff says, “and if you keep making a scene and I get recognized, that might actually happen.”

Ryan looks like he might argue, but he sighs heavily and gets in anyway. Geoff lets out a relieved breath. Crisis averted.

They get to the yacht without any trouble. It’s breezy over the ocean, but Geoff’s used to flying under less-than-ideal conditions, so it’s no problem. Ryan whistles when he catches sight of the yacht, and actually compliments Geoff when he lands it square on the helipad without difficulty.

“C’mon,” Geoff says, fighting down a grin, “let me show you around.”

It’s a funny feeling, to be honest, showing Ryan around the yacht. Ryan’s never been to the penthouse, so Geoff never got to show him around the place he lives, but showing him around the yacht is how Geoff imagines that would be. It’s cute, the way Ryan’s eyes light up at the hot tub, at the fridge full of diet cokes, at the comfortable rooms inside. Geoff feels less like he’s flaunting his money and more like he’s sharing something exciting with Ryan—and it speaks volumes of how far their relationship has come, for him to not feel guilty about his wealth.

They change into swim trunks after the grand tour, and they’ve just sat down in a deck chair with diet cokes when they hear jet skis.

“Here they come,” Geoff warns, grinning.

Ryan laughs, but Geoff can tell he’s a little nervous. He is, too. It’s been a long time since Geoff’s introduced a partner to the crew, never mind a _civilian_ partner. Neither Geoff nor Ryan wants to fuck this up.

Unfortunately for both of them, the crew does not share that sentiment.

Jack gets up onto the deck first. Geoff immediately remembers her threat of birthday spanks and cowers beside Ryan, wraps his arms around his boyfriend.

“You _wouldn’t_,” Geoff says. _Begs_, really.

Jack grins widely at him. “I’ll get those forty-one spanks in at some point,” she promises.

“Don’t bring me into this,” Ryan pleads from his spot as a human shield, “I really don’t want to be involved in this.”

“Traitor,” Geoff hisses, though without much heat.

Ryan pats his hand rather condescendingly. “There, there,” he says, voice dry, “You’re a brave man. I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Jack’s eyes light up and she laughs. Clearly, Ryan passed whatever test she had set without anyone knowing. “Hi there!” She greets, and Ryan stands up to shake her hand. This is how Geoff wanted things to go, he muses, watching them introduce themselves without much fanfare or snide remarks or any real awkwardness at all.

The lads fuck it up, naturally.

“You’re Geoff’s boyfriend?” Michael says, walks up and stands there with his arms crossed, his face set in a scowl.

If Ryan’s bothered, he doesn’t show it. “Yup,” he says, waves hello. “Nice to meet you. You’re Mogar?”

Michael regards him with narrowed eyes for a moment, only softening slightly when Jack elbows him in the ribs. “Yeah, nice to meet you too,” he says unconvincingly.

Gavin’s better, at least. He shakes Ryan’s hand and greets him politely enough, even if he’s entirely _not_ subtle when he looks him up and down, no doubt taking in the soft lines of his body, the lack of muscle, the scars over his knee.

Ryan, for his part, doesn’t say a word. He manages to look calm and relaxed and _not_ like two criminals are eyeing him up like dinner. Geoff sighs internally and makes a mental note to buy Ryan barbeque for how well he’s handling it.

Jeremy’s too sweet to be an ass. He greets Ryan enthusiastically, even drags Matt and Trevor over to say hello. Matt’s awkward at the best of times, but it’s more endearing than anything after Michael and Gavin. Trevor is terrifying, and clearly not thrilled with the yacht or Geoff’s choice of a civilian partner, but he tones his theatrics down enough to say hello as well. Lindsay gives Ryan a jaunty wave, which Ryan mimics back at her.

Geoff sinks into the hot tub, Ryan at his side, and tries to not worry about everyone getting along with Ryan. They promised to be nice, he reminds himself. They’re not going to be awful human beings on his birthday. All he has to do is drink diet coke, talk and laugh and enjoy his day, eye up his boyfriend, because _shirtless, thank you_, and avoid Jack and her birthday spanks.

(He doesn’t quite accomplish that last one. Jack is sneaky and a goddamn menace when she wants to be. Nowhere is safe.)

Gavin and Michael actually try to be nice, too. They draw Ryan into conversation, and it’s not horribly awkward like Geoff feared. He tunes it out, talks with Trevor, Jeremy, and Matt about the yacht, because those three are devious and already coming up with ways they could use it in a heist. It’s entertaining as hell.

Geoff finds his way back to Ryan after a while, plops down on the deck chair and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He’s talking with Gavin and Michael, who jump and try to look innocent when Geoff appears.

That’s not good.

“What’s up?” Geoff asks, slightly concerned.

Ryan hums, clearly amused by something. “Your crew’s cute,” he says, jerking his chin towards the lads. 

The statement has alarm bells ringing in Geoff’s head. _Goddammit_, he should never have left Ryan alone at their mercy. “What’d they do?” He demands.

Ryan barks out a delighted little laugh. “They’re trying to scare me away, I think,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “They keep recounting the gory details of things, mentioning scuffles with the cops in particular. And mentioning weapons from their arsenal. It’s cute,” he grins. And Geoff had nearly forgotten what a devious little shit Ryan could be sometimes. So the lads have been trying to upset the civilian by reminding him exactly how the crew earned their most-wanted status. Ryan’s clearly caught on to their game—not only that, but he’s halfway through turning it on their heads. It’s a beautiful thing to see, and Geoff bites back a grin, settles in to watch.

Gavin squawks, affronted by the insult of being called cute. Michael isn’t one to back down easily, and he opens his mouth to retort, but Ryan cuts him off by leaning forward conspiratorially.

“You guys realize I’m in this for the long haul, right?” Ryan says, lowering his voice to something that sounds deeper and more dangerous than Geoff’s ever heard from him before. “You’re not gonna scare me off by trying to threaten me, or by flaunting the fact that you’re criminals.” He pauses. “Also if you think I _can’t_ take you on with a knee injury,” he continues, looking right at Gavin, “you’re _wrong_.”

Gavin looks him up and down again, clearly measuring him up. Ryan _moves_, rises from the chair and launches at Gavin, and they go flailing over the side of the yacht together, Gavin screaming all the way.

It works. It fucking works like magic. Ryan’s found the bottom of the damn totem pole, found it and launched himself at it and sent it flailing down a peg, securing his place a step higher. He might not be one of the Fakes, but he’s earned their respect, Geoff knows.

Michael offers Ryan a hand up out of the ocean, Jack tosses him a towel, and life goes on.

Life fucking goes on and Geoff couldn’t be happier. He wraps an arm around Ryan’s shoulders again, takes a sip of his diet coke, and lounges on the deck of his yacht, content to enjoy his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This one was light-hearted. Time to move into some drama for the next couple chapters =D


	4. A bit of a Hiccup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff comes away from a heist fifty-thousand dollars richer, walking on sunshine, feeling like he owns the goddamn world. It’s Friday, he’s richer than he was half an hour ago, and he has a date tonight.
> 
> He has no idea how lucky he is that the heist went well and he wasn't delayed. And if he hadn't planned on visiting Ryan that night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama begins

Geoff comes away from a heist fifty-thousand dollars richer, walking on sunshine, feeling like he owns the goddamn world. He might be a bit of an adrenaline junkie, he acknowledges, leaning out the side of Jack’s cargobob, whooping and cheering as they outmaneuver the cops. The plan is to dump the cargobob in the ocean, parachute to their getaway vehicles by the shore, and drive back to the city while the cops search for a helicopter that doesn’t exist anymore.

It works. It actually fucking works and Geoff can’t stop grinning as he descends. It’s Friday, he’s richer than he was half an hour ago, and he has a date tonight.

“Let’s go, go, go!” Jack cheers, unnecessarily dramatic as they reach their getaway vehicles unnoticed. “It’s Friday and I don’t want to stand between Geoff and his date, hurry up, people!”

Geoff rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the jab, and at the ensuing wolf whistles. He, Jack, and Jeremy end up in one car, Michael and Gavin in the other, and they sing along to the radio as they drive back to LS. They get home mercifully undetected, and everyone’s in high spirits by the time they finally reach the penthouse.

He changes as quickly as he can, into a simple T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and is out the door before the rest of the guys crack open the drinks.

“Don’t do anything I would!” Geoff calls over his shoulder as he darts into the elevator, waving goodbye before jamming the button to take him to the garage. He manages to refrain from speeding the whole way to Ryan’s house, and he stops to get flowers from the grocery store on the way, just because.

Ryan gave him a key to his house last month, something which Geoff carefully keeps hidden away. It stays with the keys to his Zion Cabrio, the car he only ever drives when he’s with Ryan. Geoff lets himself in, calls out to let Ryan know who it is, and nearly eats shit the first step he takes into the house.

Geoff steadies himself, a little startled. He closes the door behind him before looking down at the offending object that nearly made him throw the bouquet of flowers across the room.

It’s Ryan’s backpack.

Ryan’s backpack is on the floor, and it takes a moment of blank staring for a horrible feeling of _wrongness_ to creep in. Ryan is, by nature, a neat person. He’s not a neat freak, exactly, but he doesn’t tend to leave things lying around on the floor. At the very least, he usually cleans the house before date night. His backpack is open, too, the contents spread out like someone rooted through it and didn’t bother to put anything back.

“Ryan?” Geoff calls, fear creeping into his veins. He always carries a gun with him, even if it’s just a pistol, and he fights the urge to reach for it. The last thing he should do is take out his pistol in a civilian’s house, no matter how worried he is. He looks around, instead, and what he can see of the house is in total disarray. A jacket and a hoodie are strewn across the couch. Dirty dishes are stacked up in the sink. There are a few things on the floor, here and there—a handful of papers, a half-full water bottle, Ryan’s shoes, _Ryan’s cane_.

Ryan’s cane lies in the middle of the floor, and the sight of it drains the color from Geoff’s face. He tosses the flowers onto the kitchen counter, moves towards the cane, past it, to the bedrooms. “Ryan!” He calls again, louder, _“Ryan!”_

There’s an answer this time, a little sound from further in the house. Geoff’s heart hammers wildly in his chest. He checks the hall closet, just in case, relieved to find it empty. Next, he checks the office—nothing, and it’s blessedly neat. The bedroom is in disarray, though, and Geoff’s heart sinks when he realizes that the bathroom door is closed. “Ryan?” He calls, knocking gently on the door. “Babe? You alright?”

Geoff hears movement. “Need help,” Ryan says quietly from the other side.

“Okay,” Geoff says, nightmare scenarios running through his head. Something is very clearly wrong, and his mind jumps to one thing—Ryan was attacked. Ryan was attacked and is hurt. “I’m gonna come in, okay?”

Ryan makes a little noise of assent, so Geoff opens the door. The bathroom is in the same disarray as the rest of the house, if not worse. The drawers are open, there are medical supplies all over the counter and the floor, Ryan’s clothes are on the floor, Ryan is—

Geoff’s heart stops.

“I’m stuck,” Ryan says, head in his hands, hiding his face, but Geoff can clearly see the tear tracks, can see fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. He leans against the tub, bad leg stretched out in front of him. He’s only wearing a shirt and boxers, his pants and socks strewn across the bathroom floor, and Geoff can tell his shirt is soaked in sweat. Ryan hiccups. “I fell and now I’m _stuck_, I can’t get _up_ and—”

“Shhh,” Geoff soothes, rushing forward to help, because Ryan’s knee looks goddamn awful, all purple and swollen. Ryan’s in pain and upset and embarrassed, and Geoff needs to _do something_. He kneels down beside him and gently grasps his shoulders. “Hey, it’s alright,” he soothes, “_Fuck_, dude, you scared me so bad.” He takes a deep breath to ground them both. “Okay. Start from the beginning. What _happened_?”

Ryan takes a deep, shuddering breath. He lowers his hands, lets them droop by his sides as though it was too much energy to hold them up. “I fell.”

Okay. Shit. “Where did you fall?” Geoff asks.

“On the steps out front,” Ryan says shakily, “I was walking up the steps, missed one, and I fell and fucked up my knee.”

Geoff swallows. The knee really doesn’t look great. “It looks bad.”

Ryan hiccups again, still crying. “It _is_ bad,” he says, and Geoff wants to cry at the anguish in his voice. “It hurts, and I didn’t have my phone on me. I thought it was in my backpack, but it wasn’t, and I crawled all over trying to find it but _couldn’t, _so I came in here and tried to deal with it myself, and—”

“Okay,” Geoff soothes, before Ryan can work himself up any further, “alright. It’s gonna be alright. Did you get painkillers?” Ryan shakes his head. Geoff thinks for a moment. The knee needs immediate attention. Besides that, Ryan needs painkillers, but he needs something heavier than the Tylenol he keeps in the medicine cabinet. He should take Ryan to the hospital, but the bills will destroy him, and there isn’t really a way that Geoff can sneakily ask for the check like he can on a date.

“Do you think you can put on some sweats?” Geoff asks. Ryan nods. “Okay. Let’s get you dressed again. C’mon.”

He helps Ryan out of his shirt and leaves only long enough to grab a fresh shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his bedroom. It takes them several minutes to wrestle the sweats on, and tears stream freely down Ryan’s cheeks once more by the time they’re done. Geoff’s heart twinges so badly it hurts.

Geoff smooths a hand through Ryan’s hair, hands him a wet washcloth to wipe his face with, and leaves again to bring his car into the garage. He snags an icepack on the way back and helps Ryan secure it to his knee, wincing when Ryan curses at the pain.

And Ryan’s not a small guy, but Geoff’s strong enough to lift him carefully. His back will pay for it later, sure, but he manages to carry him out to the car. He kisses Ryan’s forehead and buckles him in, makes sure all the doors in the house are locked, and they’re off.

Geoff turns the radio on for background noise, but it doesn’t distract or calm him as it usually does. He keeps glancing at Ryan. He hardly moves the entire drive, face pinched in pain, and Geoff’s stomach works itself into knots.

Ryan starts in surprise when they pull into the garage at the penthouse instead of the hospital. “Geoff?” He asks, quiet and uncertain.

“I’ve got you,” Geoff says firmly, “promise.”

The guys must have decided to party at the penthouse instead of going barhopping, because Jack and Michael are in a corner of the garage, beers in hand, one of Gavin’s crumpled cars between them. Both set their beers down and rush over when they see Geoff pull in. Something in his expression must give him away.

“What happened?” Jack demands.

Geoff rounds the car to open Ryan’s door for him. “Ryan fell,” he says, “his knee’s fucked. I had to carry him to the car.”

Michael swears colorfully, rushes forwards and helps Geoff lift him out of the car. They carry Ryan between them, each of his arms slung across their shoulders, just like how Jack and Michael carried _him_ a few months ago when he got shot. Jack gets the elevator open for them and pushes the button to Larry’s floor, to the infirmary they have set up there. She runs ahead of them to tell Larry, and it takes Michael and Geoff several agonizing minutes to make their way to the infirmary. Ryan shakes with pain by the time they get him settled in a bed, his face covered with a sheen of sweat, his shirt nearly soaked again.

Jack wordlessly drags Geoff out of the room to let Larry do his work. “Larry will take care of you,” Geoff promises, “and I’ll be back as soon as he’s done.”

Geoff has never liked waiting, especially outside of hospitals. Infirmaries. _Whatever_. It’s fairly goddamn awful, waiting for Larry to fix Ryan, not knowing what’s going to happen or how badly his knee’s fucked this time. He slumps against the wall outside Larry’s infirmary, buries his head in his hands, and settles down to wait.

Jack joins him. She settles down with her shoulder pressed to his, offering silent comfort. He soaks it in for several long minutes until he can’t take the silence any longer.

“He’s not supposed to get hurt,” Geoff says quietly.

“Why not?” Jack asks, voice equally hushed.

Geoff bites his lip. It’s hard to explain. “He’s not in the crew,” he says at last. “He’s not in danger every day. There’s nobody out for his blood, nobody trying to kill him, no reason for him to get hurt. He shouldn’t—he shouldn’t get _hurt_.” Tears blur his vision and spill down his cheeks, and Geoff presses his face into the heel of his palm. “It’s not _fair_.”

“It _isn’t_ fair,” Jack agrees, “you’re right. But accidents happen. People get hurt for no good reason at all. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to the people who care about them, but accidents _happen_.”

Geoff leans his head back against the wall wearily, looks up at the ceiling tiles. “It’s easier to handle injuries from jobs,” he says.

“Of course it is,” Jack says, nudges his ribs, “we’re horrible people. Nobody in our line of work is innocent. We go into danger knowing we could get hurt, knowing that our opponents are fighting for their lives just as much as we are. It feels fair when we get hurt on a job because on some level, we deserve it.” Jack sighs heavily, loops her arm around his, and leans into his side. “And it’s no fair to Ryan, that he’s been hurt so badly for no real reason. It was an accident. There’s no justifying it.”

“It sucks,” Geoff says miserably.

“It really does,” Jack agrees.

They sit there for close to an hour before the door opens and Larry calls for them to come in. Geoff scrambles to his feet and nearly trips over himself because his right leg is almost completely asleep, but he manages to avoid smacking his face into the infirmary door with inches to spare.

Ryan looks at him bemusedly from where he stands, leaning heavily on a set of crutches. All the breath whooshes out of Geoff’s lungs at the sheer relief of seeing him upright.

“The knee looks awful,” Larry says bluntly, handing Geoff a bottle of pills, “keep him off of it for a couple of weeks. Ice it to keep the swelling down. He’ll need surgery and extensive physical therapy if he wants to walk normally again.”

Geoff’s heart stops at that, and he gives Ryan a horrified, wide-eyed look, but Ryan just huffs.

“So I need to not walk for at least two weeks while it heals, and then it won’t be much worse than it already was,” Ryan translates. “It hurts like a bitch, and I’ll need to use the cane more often, but I’ll be fine.”

Well, shit. “Fuck,” Geoff says eloquently, “okay. Let’s get you upstairs.”

They head up to Geoff’s room. Jack follows them, wordlessly offering help if they need it. Ryan sinks down onto Geoff’s bed with a pained sound, and together they maneuver his leg up and onto the bed. And Ryan just lays there for a long moment, panting, face screwed up in pain.

“Did Larry give you painkillers?” Geoff asks.

Ryan hums. “Yeah. As soon as I got there.” He pauses. “Um, I don’t have any clothes.”

Thank goodness they changed him into sweatpants, Geoff thinks, because there’s no way they could wrestle pants on or off him right now. “You can borrow one of my shirts for tonight,” he offers.

“I can grab you some clothes from home,” Jack offers carefully, “and anything else you might need. You might not feel up to going home in the morning.”

Ryan nods, gives in without a fuss. “I left my phone somewhere,” he says, “probably somewhere up high because I couldn’t find it from the floor.”

“I’ll find it,” Jack promises. “Anything else?”

“My backpack,” Ryan says. “It should have my laptop and charger in it. I think that’s all I really need. I have crutches, so I shouldn’t need the cane for a while.”

Geoff hands Jack the keys to his Cabrio, gives her Ryan’s address, and mumbles a quick thanks before she leaves. He grabs an ice pack and a clean T-shirt for Ryan, a shirt and sweats for himself, and heads back to the bed. Once they’re both changed, they get settled under the covers together. Geoff lays down carefully on Ryan’s good side, and Ryan sighs wearily, adjusting the ice on his knee.

“Thank you,” Ryan says softly. “I’m sorry about all this.”

Geoff reaches out and laces their fingers together. “Accidents happen,” he says, “it’s not your fault. I’m just glad I found you.”

Ryan squeezes his hand tightly. “Me too.” He tugs on Geoff’s hand, so Geoff scoots over to lay with his head on Ryan’s shoulder, Ryan’s arm wrapped around him, their hands tangled together atop Ryan’s chest. “Thank you for taking care of me,” Ryan says, and there’s a tightness to his voice that Geoff has come to know all too well. He’s upset about the money, about Geoff taking him to the Fakes’ doctor so that he doesn’t have to worry about the bills.

“The money I got from today’s heist could pay for Larry’s help tonight several times over,” Geoff says firmly. “It could pay for the surgery to fix your knee, and could probably cover all the physical therapy, too. I’m not going to force anything on you, but _Ryan_.” He squeezes his hand. “It’s okay. Shit happens. I pay Larry to patch up my crew and our allies when shit goes wrong. It’s what he’s here for.”

Ryan’s clearly too exhausted to argue the point. He squeezes Geoff’s hand once more and says nothing, just drifts off to sleep, aided by the painkillers.

Geoff sits awake for a long time, listening to Ryan’s heart through his chest, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breaths. He takes the ice off Ryan’s knee after twenty minutes. Either he’s just that sneaky, or Ryan is truly exhausted, because Ryan doesn’t wake. He tries not to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t visited Ryan, if it hadn’t been date night, if the heist had run long and they’d been forced to wait a day. Ryan’s here, he reminds himself over and over again. Ryan’s still here.

Humans are fragile things. If Ryan couldn’t get up after getting to the bathroom, he might not have been able to get himself food or water, even if he still had the strength to crawl. If he’d hit his head on the way down, he could have bled out on the steps or in the bathroom with Geoff none the wiser. If he’d fallen just a little differently, he could have fucked up his knee beyond all repair. If things had gone differently, Geoff’s favorite person could have been _gone_ by the time Geoff found him.

Geoff wraps his arms around Ryan, listens to him breathe, and tries to sleep.

* * *

True to Jack’s warning, Ryan doesn’t feel well enough to head back home the next morning. In fact, he sleeps through most of the next day. Jack drops by early in the morning with Ryan’s things. She leans the backpack and a bag of clothes against the bed and places his phone and the neglected bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. Geoff thanks her quietly and spends a lazy morning watching his boyfriend sleep, playing games on his phone to pass the time. The day after a heist is usually meet-with-Trevor-to-discuss-expense-reports-and-property-damage day, and he’s not looking forward to it, but it needs to be done. He leaves a note beside Ryan’s phone and heads upstairs, careful not to wake his boyfriend.

Trevor does a double take when Geoff enters the heist room. “I didn’t think you’d come in today,” he says, head tilted to the side. He and Jack sit together, laptops open, clearly working on things without him.

And Geoff feels a little burst of pride at that. He’s got a good crew looking after him. “Ryan’s still sleeping,” he says, shrugging. “I figured I’d make myself useful _somewhere_.”

Jack frowns at him. “Go get your boyfriend food and an icepack, and spend some time with him,” she says firmly. “Trevor and I can deal with this.”

Geoff hesitates. As much as he wants to run away from his responsibilities, he feels too guilty to actually do it.

And he doesn’t say that out loud, but Trevor must read his mind because he gives him the flattest look he’s ever seen. “_You_ don’t deserve a day off,” he says dryly, “but Ryan doesn’t deserve to be left alone, so,” he makes a shooing motion with his hands, “get out.”

Wow. Just when Geoff got the warm gooey feelings about his crew, too. He flips Trevor off and slams the door shut on them. Pricks.

“There’s bacon in the fridge,” Jeremy says by way of greeting, slumped over the kitchen counter with his arms over his head. “Plus some not-cooked eggs. Jack made us leave some for you guys.”

Geoff grabs two pans, two plates, and starts cooking. He slides a glass of water over to Jeremy, too. “Did you take painkillers for that hangover?”

Jeremy groans out something that vaguely sounds like a yes, so Geoff leaves him alone for the time being and tries to cook bacon and eggs as quietly as possible. He’s not entirely successful, but Jeremy doesn’t leave, so he must not do too terribly.

“Sorry to hear about Ryan,” Jeremy mumbles after a while.

Geoff purses his lips. “I take it everyone knows?”

Jeremy sits up at last, takes a few sips of water. “Yeah. Michael was pretty freaked out. Said he was really hurt.”

That’s news to Geoff. He vaguely remembers Michael cursing, shoving his beer to the side, and helping him lift Ryan out of the car. He’d helped carry him to the infirmary, too. “Ryan did a number on his knee,” Geoff says at last.

“Will he be able to walk again?” Jeremy asks.

Geoff sighs. “He wasn’t able to walk great to begin with,” he admits. Ryan hadn’t walked around much on Geoff’s birthday, hadn’t wanted to limp around in front of the crew. He didn’t bring his cane to the yacht, either. And the crew didn’t know it, but he’d paid dearly for tackling Gavin off the deck; he spent the whole next day in bed, icing his knee on and off, the pain in his knee keeping him from doing anything else. “The condition that Larry described isn’t much worse from how it was before,” he explains.

“Shit,” Jeremy says. He frowns deeply. “Jack said Larry suggested surgery for it. If it’s not much worse than it was before, why didn’t he get it fixed earlier?”

And it’s not easy for Geoff to admit, not when he so keenly wishes he could pay for everything Ryan needs. “He couldn’t afford it,” he says softly, and Jeremy drops the subject. Geoff finishes cooking the meal in silence. He passes a few pieces of bacon to Jeremy, fighting down a grin at the pure joy on his face. When the bacon is done, he grabs a baking tray long enough to hold two plates, fills two glasses with orange juice, and carries the feast to his room.

Ryan must have only been dozing, because he looks around blearily when he smells food. Geoff’s heart twists at the sight. It’s goddamn adorable.

“Hungry?” He asks. He helps Ryan sit up against the headboard, piling a mountain of pillows behind him, and sets the tray on his lap.

Ryan grins at the sight of bacon, shoves some into his mouth before waving at Geoff. “G’morning,” he says through his mouthful.

Geoff laughs. “I see where your priorities lie,” he grins, “bacon first, boyfriend second.”

“Painkillers third?” Ryan asks hopefully, voice tight, and Geoff melts a little.

He passes Ryan the bottle of painkillers, nudges the glass of orange juice closer, and starts in on his own plate. He’s glad to see that Ryan’s appetite doesn’t seem to be affected. He just about scarfs the food, and Geoff realizes that he probably didn’t eat dinner last night. Neither of them had. Ryan says nothing, though, just tears through his meal and thanks him for breakfast in bed.

“Yeah, well,” Geoff says, deflects, “as much as I love pampering you, I’m not carrying you upstairs.”

Ryan flicks a piece of egg at him. It’s well-deserved.

Later that day, Gavin shows up with a handful of papers. Geoff reaches out to take them, assuming it’s paperwork from Trevor, but Gavin gives him the dirtiest look possible and tosses them at Ryan, instead. “Hope you feel better soon,” he says, before waving awkwardly and walking back upstairs. Ryan and Geoff trade a bewildered glance before turning their attention to the papers.

It’s a stack of get-well cards. Everyone in the crew wrote one, it looks like, and they range from humorous store-bought cards to sweetly handwritten cards, each of them wishing Ryan a speedy recovery. A few of them have gift cards tucked inside; one for a nice restaurant downtown, one for steam, another for fro-yo. It is, without a doubt, the kindest thing Geoff’s ever seen his crew do besides take a bullet for someone.

Geoff hugs Ryan tightly, ignores the tears in both their eyes. “_Thank you_,” Ryan says after they’ve both composed themselves.

“I didn’t put them up to this,” Geoff says. “I didn’t—I didn’t know.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Thank you,” he repeats, as though he doesn’t know how to say anything else. “Thank you.” They sit there quietly for a long time before Ryan speaks again. “I didn’t think they particularly cared for me.”

Geoff snorts outright. “Apparently you thought wrong,” he says, looking down at the stack of cards in Ryan’s lap. “Dude. You earned their respect.”

“By tackling Gavin?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah,” Geoff says, “you found the weak one and stepped over him to get in the door. They like you better than Gavin, now.” Ryan huffs, trying to brush him off. Geoff squeezes him once, because this is _important_, dammit. “I’m only partly joking. It takes guts to stand up to and challenge the most infamous criminals in the city. They were all impressed. You earned your spot here, even if you’re not in the crew.”

“With Gavin—I was only playing,” Ryan says, tensing, something desperate in his voice. He won’t meet Geoff’s eyes. “They know that, right?”

Geoff pats the cards in Ryan’s lap. “What do you think?”

Ryan doesn’t respond, but he relaxes back into the pillows, so Geoff takes it as a win.

* * *

Ryan’s _around_ after that. Geoff’s not keen on letting him out of his sight, to be honest, doesn’t want to drive him back home to be by himself. And Ryan calls him a mother hen when Geoff admits as much, but he doesn’t argue, doesn’t refuse the help, which tells Geoff that Ryan’s just as rattled by the ordeal as he is. And since Jack brought his laptop, he can work from bed if he needs to. So Ryan stays at the penthouse, and Geoff ultimately notices two things about it.

First, he really, _really_ likes having Ryan around long-term. Waking up with his boyfriend there every morning is a gift that he cherishes. He loves falling asleep beside him, or curled up with him, and he loves waking up the next morning beside him. He enjoys cooking for him, enjoys showering together, enjoys sitting and reading together or playing games together. He just—he wants to _be_ with Ryan, regardless of what they do.

Jack’s words from months ago echo in his head. He really is fucked.

Second, the crew likes Ryan. Geoff convinces him to leave the safety of the bedroom eventually, and they end up eating most meals with the crew in the living room. They decide to keep Ryan’s leg elevated on the coffee table, and everyone wordlessly moves from the kitchen counter to the couch to hang out. Conversation flows naturally, keeping away from the topic of Ryan’s injury. And getting along with the crew at meals is easy, but Ryan manages a whole different feat; he manages to bond with everyone _individually_. It’s something even Geoff struggles with sometimes, wrangling so many goddamn assholes for so long, and he watches in awe as Ryan makes friends like it’s nothing.

He bonds with Jack over cars. At Jack’s careful prodding, Ryan admits he used to race, ages ago, before his injury kept him from driving anything manual. And _shit_, that explains both his previous source of high income _and_ the covered car in the garage. Ryan absolutely lights up when Jack mentions some of the cars in her garage, and grins widely when she offers to show him the crew’s supercars when he’s better. Geoff makes a mental note to drive him around in his Zentorno at some point. Ryan might enjoy a joyride in it, as long as he doesn’t refuse to get into a hot pink car. 

Gavin and Matt sit at the kitchen counter bickering over the code in some security program one evening, talking in circles and getting nowhere. He and Ryan listen to the squabbling for close to an hour before Ryan _winks_ at him, stands up, and limps over to Gavin and Matt with his crutches without a word. He peers over their shoulder for all of five minutes before pointing at something and suggesting a better way to do it. Geoff can’t see Matt’s face from where he is, but Gavin blinks several times before turning back to the computer and squinting at it. Ryan doesn’t even wait for permission; he leans his crutches against the counter and types away for a few minutes.

“Huh,” Matt says at last, “that might actually work.”

Gavin scratches the stubble on his cheek. “How’d you figure that out?”

“Eh,” Ryan says, reaching for his crutches, “I taught myself a little bit of cybersecurity for a client, a few years ago. Hope that helps.”

It does. Matt and Gavin get the program finished two days later, ahead of schedule. Geoff wishes he could employ Ryan without endangering him because goddamn, those two have never met a deadline in their lives.

At one point, Michael walks in with a rocket launcher. Michael walks into the penthouse with a _loaded fucking rocket launcher_, sets it on the coffee table beside Ryan’s leg like it’s no big deal, and starts gearing up.

Geoff’s two seconds away from screeching like a banshee, but Ryan leans forward and makes a little ‘huh’ sound.

“What’s that for?” Ryan asks casually.

Michael grins, all sharp teeth and malice. “Blowing shit up.”

“Ah,” Ryan says, lips lifting into a little smile, “well I figured _that_. What, specifically, are you blowing up?”

“I dunno yet,” Michael says, shrugging his jacket on and hefting a backpack that Geoff _knows_ is full of explosives. “Maybe you should turn on the news and find out.”

Ryan grins and reaches for the remote. And it’s a little creepy, to be honest—Geoff’s _civilian_ boyfriend turns on the news to watch Michael wreck shit in the city and kill LSPD along the way, laughing and grinning like it’s a fucking movie.

“What?” Ryan asks when he catches Geoff staring. “I watch you guys on the news all the time. It’s Los Santos, what do you expect?”

Fair.

Still, Ryan could be a little less of a maniac.

(Inwardly, Geoff thinks he loves him a little bit more.)

Geoff catches Jeremy and Ryan playing video games together. It’s incredibly endearing, actually, to see Ryan hanging out with the youngest person in the crew. They get way overly dramatic with the games, too, screaming at each other like they’re actually dying, gasping _I’m not going to make it, Jeremy_, and _hold on, Ryan, hold on_, until Geoff’s reduced to a wheezing, crying mess in the kitchen. He laughs until he cries and cries until he laughs, until eventually he thinks they’re going to give him a heart attack if he laughs anymore, Jesus _Christ_.

Lindsay immediately latches onto the fact that Ryan has a sweet tooth. She spends more time in the penthouse than usual, baking cupcakes and trying out new recipes and shoving sugary goods in Ryan’s direction. Ryan eats one of everything. At _least_ one of everything.

He even gets on Trevor’s good side, a feat Geoff hasn’t even managed in the years since Trevor joined the crew. And the friendship or whatever that Ryan gets with Trevor is nothing to write home about, but Geoff sees them chatting peacefully in the common room several times, just the two of them. It’s really good to see, actually. It’s relieving—clearly, Trevor doesn’t hate Ryan. He might hate _Geoff_ for _choosing_ him as a partner, but he doesn’t hate Ryan, and that’s all well and good in Geoff’s book.

To be fair, Geoff knows Trevor doesn’t hate him or his choice. The only thing Trevor hates about the situation is the number of ways it could go wrong and hurt them both. But Geoff’s never been one to let fear stop him, and both of them know it. (And honestly? All of that is _way_ too much of an emotional minefield for either of them to navigate safely, so they just pretend to be snippy with each other over the situation. It’s easier that way.)

Anyways. Everyone _adores_ Ryan. It’s clear that nobody particularly wants him to leave, least of all Geoff. But when Ryan hands his crutches back to Larry a few weeks later, he smiles at Geoff, slow and sweet, and asks to be driven back home.

Geoff can’t deny him anything. They stay together at Ryan’s house for a few days, just to make sure Ryan’s okay on his own, before Geoff inevitably has to return to work. But something’s shifted. They no longer exclusively go to Ryan’s house for dates. Geoff picks him up and brings him to the penthouse just as often. Ryan drives over on his own after repeated invitations from literally everyone, finally caving when Jack gives him a button for the garage door.

Ryan starts spending time with the rest of the crew, too. It warms Geoff’s heart beyond all belief when he asks if Ryan wants to go out to dinner and he says no because he’s out driving with Jack. He gets the warm fuzzies seeing him play video games with Jeremy. His heart’s a little less warm, though, when Gavin calls Ryan for help with his laptop and Ryan comes back fuming at the state of Gavin’s office. “There’s wires and parts and pieces of equipment _everywhere_, Geoff!” Ryan says, anguished, throwing his hands up into the air. “I can’t save him!”

Geoff laughs at him, kisses away the resulting pout. “_Nobody_ can save Gavin,” he says solemnly, eyes crinkling when Ryan laughs.

Ryan’s _around_, and it’s wonderful. Geoff loves it. He never wants it to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this fic is entirely self-indulgent? A little over a month ago I fell and seriously hurt myself--tripping over a concrete step in the backyard. This chapter didn't exist until after my own injury. Regardless, I'm really happy with how it turned out. I needed something to get Ryan introduced to the crew and this worked perfectly. 
> 
> Next week's chapter gets further into drama. The week after that will be a short epilogue. Thank you for reading and sticking with me this far! <3


	5. Bad Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night is a shitty time for things to go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO excited to share this chapter holy shit guys.

Date night is a shitty time for things to go wrong, Geoff muses.

He’d gone out to the grocery store to buy steaks and veggies to grill for dinner. Getting the groceries was no problem, but there was someone waiting for him when he got back to his car. Years of his crew’s bullshit had him thinking it was just another mugger, so he’d sighed heavily and held one arm up in surrender, the other digging in his back pocket for his wallet. But no, it was decidedly _not_ a mugger, because the man ran up to him, punched him hard across the jaw, and dragged him into a waiting car instead of taking his wallet.

His groceries were left neglected in the parking lot, and _goddammit_, that was a nice cut of meat left to rot.

It’s mostly just frustrating, honestly. He’s in danger, but the gang that has captured him clearly want him alive for something, because they’ve taken him to an abandoned industrial complex at the edge of the city instead of killing him outright. And of course torture and beatings are nothing to sniff at, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being murdered. On the bright side, they seem to be waiting to _really_ torture him, because so far they’ve only roughed him up a bit. One of the bruisers threw him against the wall when he was finished beating the shit out of him, and Geoff’s been resting against it for about an hour since then.

He can just barely hear his crew through his earpiece, which he’d left on and in his jacket pocket after a job earlier, so he’d slumped forward to hear them better. Jack tried to communicate with him as soon as the bruiser stopped beating the living shit out of him, the noise on his end probably having alerted the crew that something was wrong. Geoff can’t respond without giving himself away, though, so he stayed quiet. The guys have been trying to plan something ever since, and Geoff has faith in them. They’ll get him out, he assures himself. They won’t leave him here.

Geoff dozes lightly, the gang content to leave him alone as long as he stays still, probably waiting for their leader or for another gang to show up. He takes comfort in the background noise of his crew making plans to bust him out, smiling slightly when whenever they break down into bickering. Jack’s reigning them all in, making them take things slow and careful in case the gang catches wind of their plans and decides to off him, though it sounds like some of them are chomping at the bit already. It’s easy entertainment to listen to them all bickering, it’s comforting, until—

“Hello boys,” _Ryan’s_ voice drawls over the comms, “which side of the complex is Geoff on?”

Geoff stops breathing for a moment, because _why is Ryan on the comms?_ The only thing Geoff can think of is that Ryan was dragged into this mess, too, but that doesn’t make sense, he_ shouldn’t be on the comms_—

“Ryan!” Gavin shrieks, “How did you get in here?”

Ryan hums noncommittally. “I showed up for date night and everyone was in the heist room, which is locked,” he says, and there’s something odd about his voice that Geoff can’t quite place. It could just be the way his voice sounds over the comms, but it’s _weird_, almost muffled. “Lindsay filled me in, told me I could wait in the penthouse. I snagged an earpiece and a laptop from Matt’s room.”

There’s an indignant “Hey!” from Matt, along with a burst of noise as the crew protests.

“You hacked into our comms!” Gavin yelps, “Ryan!” And Geoff’s one hundred percent on Gavin’s side here, because what the _fuck_ is Ryan thinking?

“Sure did,” Ryan says, sounding smug as all hell, but then he sobers. “Gavin. I know you have access to whatever cameras are in there. _Where in the complex is Geoff?_”

The comms go silent for a moment. “North side,” Gavin says at last, “against the outer wall, about thirty feet from the east wall.”

“O-kay,” Ryan says, voice sing-songy, and then it’s silent again.

“…Why?” Michael says at length, clearly suspicious.

Ryan hums again. “No reason,” he says lightly.

Nobody buys it, least of all Geoff, who’s heard that innocent tone of voice enough to know that Ryan’s hiding something. Jack launches into a lecture, displeased with Ryan for stealing the earpiece and laptop. Geoff tunes it out for the most part, wills his heart to calm instead. He hopes beyond hope that Ryan is safe, that he isn’t involved in this somehow. 

“Trevor, is that the B-team?” Gavin says suddenly, cutting off Jack mid-sentence.

Trevor’s voice comes through from somewhere windy, almost unheard over the blotchy sound of wind through the microphone. “Negative. B-team is set up on the perimeter, out of view of any of the cameras.”

Gavin curses. “_Ryan_. Are you in that?” Geoff frowns. In _what?_ Gavin sounds freaked out, his voice frantic and shaky. Geoff’s tempted to lift his head to look around, but he can’t alert the gang that he knows something’s up. It nearly kills him inside, but he keeps his head down, stays as still as possible.

“In what?” Ryan asks, after a moment. And if it’s not Ryan…Geoff is struck with the sickening thought that whoever the gang is waiting for has arrived. Things might be about to get ugly, and _Ryan is on the comms_. He’ll hear everything.

Gavin exhales shakily. “Shit. _Shit_, what the hell is that?!”

“What’s going on?” Michael hisses.

And Geoff hears a noise. It sounds like the dull roar you hear near a freeway, except the complex has been abandoned for years and the roads around it are all blocked off.

Someone grunts loudly, there’s a weird thunking noise in the comms, and Gavin shrieks, clearly upset beyond the point of words.

But Geoff’s too focused on the way the sound of the engine grows from a faint rumble to a startling roar. It’s all the warning he gets before the wall adjacent to the one he leans against _explodes_, an enormous semi-truck barreling through the wall and into the complex. It smashes through a handful of the gang members scattered around before it hits a support column, tips over, and smashes to the floor in the center of the complex, wheels still spinning.

“The Fakes are here!” someone screams, and the remaining gang members scramble to face the gaping hole in the wall.

“No, not the Fakes,” someone says, and Geoff is _this_ close to shitting himself, because the deep voice is echoed in the earpiece in his pocket. “You managed to piss off someone _much_ worse.” A man steps through the hole in the wall, clad in a blue and black jacket with white stripes on the arms, a black skull mask, carrying a goddamn_ minigun_. And Geoff knows that figure—_everyone_ in Los Santos does.

It’s the Vagabond.

Geoff dives to the ground and flattens himself on his stomach as much as he can when the Vagabond starts firing. For a few minutes the world is _loud_; the roar of the minigun, the screams of the gang, and the pinging of bullets against cement producing a deafening cacophony. Then, just as quickly as it started, it’s all over, Geoff’s ears ringing horribly.

Uneven steps make their way over to him. “Get up,” someone says, and Geoff rolls over to see the Vagabond looming over him, minigun still in hand. Geoff doesn’t have much of a choice, here, so he swallows thickly and stands. The Vagabond nudges him with the side of the minigun. “Move. With me.” The Vagabond leads him out through the hole he came in, away from the complex, towards the dark streets beyond it. They reach a sleek black Zentorno, and Geoff gets in when prompted. The Vagabond dumps the minigun into the trunk, gets in beside him, and drives them into the city without a word.

* * *

** _Six years ago_ **

Ray radios Geoff from a job. It’s not entirely unheard of, for Ray to radio in to double check intel or to provide an update, but the sniper typically goes off and does his own thing on jobs, choosing to report in after the fact. So Geoff’s immediately a little on edge when Ray radios him in the middle of the night, voice hushed to avoid giving away his position.

“Something’s not right,” Ray says after confirming that they’re the only two people on the comms, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me everything you can,” Geoff says, rolling onto his back and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Ray sighs. “Okay. So I went to provide backup for Sherman, like you suggested. He really seems to be trying to get on the Fakes’ good side. Offered intel and supplies as a bonus to my help tonight. I thought it was a little fishy, didn’t outright accept anything. But then he took me aside to his office.”

Geoff grits his teeth. “He trying to get you killed?”

“I don’t think so?” Ray says, and _wow_, what a vote of confidence. “He has someone after him. Pissed off the wrong guy or something, because he’s real worried about something. He was fidgety, paced the whole time, and didn’t give me a huge amount of details. Just told me that he’s expecting someone to fuck up tonight’s job.”

“Be _careful_,” Geoff says immediately, “I don’t want him thinking you’re expendable, or to be used as bait.”

“I am,” Ray assures him, “he let me set up without following me, I don’t think he knows which rooftop I’m on. I’ve got a proximity explosive by the ladder just in case. I just…Geoff, I don’t know who he’s managed to piss off, but I think it might be one of the heavy hitters in LS.”

It absolutely could be. There’s no shortage of people to make enemies of in Los Santos, and the Fakes are still a ways from the top. It’s in their best interest _not_ to fuck with whoever Sherman’s managed to piss off, but here’s the thing: they can’t afford to lose Sherman. He’s the most reliable weapons dealer they’ve got in Los Santos. And Sherman might be lower on the food chain than the Fakes, but they still rely heavily on him to stay where they are.

“Take the shot if you can,” Geoff says, because he’d rather keep Sherman and piss off someone big, than buy their lives for another day and have no weapons to extend that lifespan. “Be _careful_, but we need Sherman more than anything else right now. Take the shot.”

“Okay,” Ray says, softly, “okay. I’ll…I’ll report in the penthouse in a few hours, when the job is done.”

Ray signs off and Geoff sighs heavily. He gets up, aware that he won’t get any sleep until Ray’s back, too anxious about the situation to rest. He shuffles towards the living room, hoping food and a video game will be enough to distract him.

It turns out it’s not enough, but it keeps him occupied at the very least.

Ray gets back in the early hours of the morning, just short of dawn. Geoff turns off the Xbox and beckons him over to the heist room.

“What happened?” He demands, taking in Ray’s wide-eyed expression with a feeling of dread.

Ray sits down heavily and puts his head in his hands. “It was the Vagabond,” Ray says, and _shit_, holy fucking _shit_. “He took out a hefty chunk of Sherman’s guys before I saw him. He knew where I was, avoided getting in my line of sight until he was pinned.” Ray takes a deep breath and looks up at Geoff, finally, his eyes haunted. “I shot him before I registered who he was. He went down and I lost sight of him after that.”

Geoff exhales slowly, shakily. “Fuck,” he says, because this was about the _worst_ scenario possible. The _Vagabond_ turned on the Fakes’ ally, and Ray had to engage.

Here’s the thing: the Vagabond is a legend in Los Santos. Geoff and the rest of the Fakes have a healthy respect for (and fear of) him. Geoff honestly admires the Vagabond, even if he shits his pants a little every time the Fakes brush close to him or his territory. The Vagabond is a damn good assassin; he clearly knows how to take down a target, but his main job is to instill fear. Geoff’s certain that the Vagabond could kill his targets without ever being noticed, but he chooses to do his jobs messily and obviously. It’s a scare tactic, and it works. The Vagabond has Los Santos in the palm of his hand. The Fakes strive to reach his level, to be as infamous and dangerous as he is. Geoff leaves him alone and stays clear of his territory, partly to avoid getting on his bad side and partly to be able to admire his skills from afar.

But now there’s a distinct possibility that the Vagabond will come after them, will wage war on the Fakes as a whole. “We need to be on high alert in case he comes after us,” Geoff says at last, gears turning, plans already forming in his head.

“Geoff,” Ray says, pauses, and starts again, “Geoff, I…I think I might have killed him.”

Geoff freezes, the gears in his head grinding to a halt. “Shit,” he says, “fuck. Holy _fuck_. Did you really?”

Ray puts his head in his hands again. “I don’t _know_. He went down by the docks. I checked out the area personally afterwards and there’s a huge puddle of blood right where I hit him, like he laid there for a while and bled. I shot to maim, in case Sherman wanted him for questioning. But there’s no body, no blood trail leading away from the puddle.”

“Do you think he jumped into the water?” Geoff asks, and Ray nods. “Fuck. There’s no way to tell if he’s alive or not.” Geoff grits his teeth. “We’ll just have to wait and see if he turns up.”

So they wait, and they wait, and they wait.

Ten months later sees Ray plopping down in a chair beside Geoff in the heist room. His face is uncharacteristically grave.

“I think I killed him,” Ray whispers. “I think I killed the Vagabond.”

Geoff doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet. It certainly _does_ seem like it; Los Santos hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the Vagabond since that night.

“Los Santos’ best mercenary gone in an instant,” Ray says softly, “I feel awful. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“I know,” Geoff says. “I didn’t know it was the _Vagabond_ that Sherman was worried about. I might’ve ordered you to get the hell out of there if I’d known.” They sit there in silence for a long moment, both mourning the assassin they held in high esteem. “Ray, there’s a big chance he might have come after us eventually anyways. It’s not much consolation, but you probably saved us a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Ray sighs heavily. “I know, I know, it’s just…the whole thing startled me.”

“Yeah,” Geoff says, “It startled me, too.” They look out the window over Los Santos together. “It’s probably for the best,” Geoff mutters quietly. “We’re all safer with him gone.”

Somehow is own reassurances feel hollow, empty, fake. He sounds like a liar even to his own ears.

* * *

** _Present Day_ **

** **

The Vagabond drives him back to the penthouse without a word. And the Zentorno is not a quiet car by any means, but the supercar’s engine is not enough to drown out the oppressive silence that reigns between them. The Vagabond doesn’t move to turn on the radio, doesn’t try to fill in the silence with chatter, doesn’t roll down a window or anything like that. They sit in the most painful silence Geoff’s ever felt in his life for the long drive back to the penthouse.

The crew is waiting for them when they return. The garage door opens for them, the Fakes clearly keeping an eye on them. The Vagabond parks carefully, taking the time to back into his spot, most likely so he can leave as quickly as possible if need be. Neither of them speak when they get out of the car, and those in the crew who are there in the garage don’t say anything either. Geoff wordlessly walks to the elevator, leads everyone to the heist room where the remainder of the crew is. They’ve still got their half-drafted plans scattered on the table and the whiteboard, several laptops open to monitor cameras. The Vagabond limps slowly the whole way there and settles down gingerly into a chair. He doesn’t hiss in pain, but Geoff can tell it’s a close thing.

The silence in the car was an awful, oppressive thing. This, though? This is worse. Nobody knows what to say, how to start. Geoff swears everyone can hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“Was it a ploy?” Trevor asks finally, breaking the tense silence.

The Vagabond recoils as if struck. Geoff doesn’t know if he wants to cry or vomit or both.

“If it was a scheme to kill Geoff,” the Vagabond says slowly, “he’d have been dead _months_ ago.”

Jack doesn’t look pleased with the answer. “Nice of you to fucking tell us, _asshole_.”

The Vagabond sighs. He takes off his mask, finally, and sets it on the table. The Vagabond’s signature facepaint is missing. His hair is wheat-blond, not black. It’s just _Ryan_, and the sight is more comforting than Geoff cares to admit. Ryan sits up straight and looks Geoff in the eye. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for Geoff’s judgement.

And Geoff—

—Geoff only has one question.

“You died,” he says bluntly.

“He disappeared,” Jack corrects with a frown, “he disappeared _years_ ago and nobody knows why.” And Geoff hadn’t told the crew what really happened, back then. The whole nasty business stayed between him and Ray. They tried to forget. When Ray left, the secret left with him.

“I ordered the shot,” Geoff says. He throws the words out there, hurls them in Ryan’s face, because he’s so, so tired of lying. “I ordered Ray to take him out, and Ray and shot him in the knee.” And there; it’s out there. Geoff’s favorite person in the _world_ was maimed by his order. Ryan’s knee, Ryan’s _life_, fucked beyond repair because of Geoff. It hurts to acknowledge. It hurts so fucking bad Geoff wants to cry, but he owes this to him. He owes it to Ryan and his crew to be truthful, no matter how badly it hurts.

Everyone shits bricks in silence. Geoff vaguely registers the shocked expressions on his crew’s faces, but all he can do is watch Ryan. Ryan’s face doesn’t even change. He’s still waiting for judgement, a condemned man before his executioner, and it hurts Geoff more than any physical pain he’s ever felt.

_“What?”_ Jack asks, daring to break the silence.

“I ordered the shot,” Geoff repeats, not breaking eye contact with Ryan. “Back when we used Sherman for all our weapons, he got into trouble. Practically begged Ray for help. Ray knew something was up, suspected one of the heavy hitters in the city was after Sherman, and I ordered him to take the shot.”

“Shit,” Michael mutters, fists a hand in his hair. “Fuck. Did you know it was him?”

Geoff shakes his head. “No. Neither did Ray, not until he’d already pulled the trigger.”

The crew looks to Ryan, finally, when Geoff offers no further information.

Ryan keeps his eyes on Geoff when he speaks. “I knew I was fucked,” he says. “That day someone raided my main safehouse, stole almost _everything_ I had. I’d just come away from a big job and hadn’t banked my earnings yet, and they took _all_ of it. Sherman offered me information, said he knew who did it, wanted to trade the intel for a favor.” The corner of Ryan’s lip turns up in a snarl. “I should have known it was a setup. When I got there, he said he’d brought Brownman to keep me in line. He tried to blackmail me into working for him with the threat of your sniper hanging over my head.” Ryan grimaces. “He engaged first when I stalled. I was outnumbered. I knew the risks of going out in the open, took the chance anyways, and paid the price.”

And goddamn, Geoff hates it. He hates people like Sherman, because Sherman and his gang had turned on _them_, too. Fucking sellouts and backstabbers and horrible people who don’t have a shred of honor, all of them. He hates the fact that he’d made a call that had caused more hurt than help, hates that he’d ordered the shot to keep his crew safe and in turn hurt the person he cares most about.

“So—” Michael breaks off, clearly frustrated. “Your knee.”

Ryan doesn’t flinch. “Geoff ordered the shot,” he says simply. “He and your sniper are responsible for the original injury to my knee.”

And _fuck_, it hurts everyone to hear it out loud.

“So that’s why you disappeared?” Jack asks.

Ryan looks down, finally. He fidgets with his hands. “I had almost no money. I never got confirmation on who raided my safehouse; it could have been Sherman, but I had no shortage of enemies at the time. I had no way to pay a doctor to shut up about my injury, so I buzzed my head and tried the emergency room. What little money I had left wasn’t enough to pay for the whole thing. I needed something to do to pay it off, and it needed to be something I could do from home.”

“So you started your own IT business,” Gavin says, “because you already had tech skills from your time as the Vagabond. Probably couldn’t do much other than work from home, either.”

“Right,” Ryan nods. “It was both safe and practical.” He smiles wryly. “Kept me under the radar, too.”

Gavin taps his fingers on the table. “So…tonight.” He pauses, clearly trying to gather his words. “You were in that truck.”

“I was,” Ryan nods. “As soon as Lindsay left me alone in the penthouse, I stole the laptop and earpiece. Which I _will_ give back,” he promises, sliding a look at Matt, “I left them in my car. I’ll give them back before I leave.” Matt nods, and Geoff figures Matt’s only calm and reasonable about having his tech stolen because Ryan _did_ actually use it to rescue him. Fair’s fair, and all that, even if the rest of the crew don’t see it the same way.

“I saw you jump out,” Gavin says quietly, like he’s guilty about bringing it up. “You hit the ground hard. Is your knee alright?” And shit, Geoff hadn’t even thought about that. Ryan was limping when he walked over to him after slaughtering the gang.

Ryan grimaces. “I’ll be fine,” he says, reaching down and rubbing his bad knee. “It hurts like hell, but I didn’t fuck it up this time.”

“Thank you,” Jack says. The statement has everyone whipping their heads around to look. “For saving Geoff,” she clarifies. Geoff exhales slowly, aware the statement was not an easy one for her to make. He knows she was upset when Ryan stole the tech, worried for everyone’s safety, but she’d been spitting mad when they got back to the penthouse. Letting that go and thanking him? Not an easy thing for her to do.

Ryan looks down again. “I care an awful lot about him,” he says, quiet but firm. “I’d do anything to keep him safe.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Also, for the record, I didn’t know Geoff was the _Kingpin_ when we started dating. I might have come clean a lot earlier if I had, or stayed away entirely.”

It doesn’t fix things, but it appeases the crew. Silence takes over again, nobody knowing what to do or say. After a few moments Jack heaves a sigh and kicks everyone out of the room. And _goddammit_, this is not what Geoff had in mind when he made plans to spend the night alone with Ryan. 

“That’s why you looked scared of me,” Geoff mumbles, tugging a hand through his hair, “that night on the beach. I told you I’m the Kingpin and you looked _scared_.”

Ryan won’t meet his eyes. “For a minute there I was,” he admits quietly. “I got hurt badly by you and your crew. But then you—you looked as close to miserable as I’ve ever seen you, and it, I don’t know.” He trails off for a moment, gathering his words. “You’re _Geoff_,” he says at last, blue eyes flickering up to meet Geoff’s. “I never begrudged you or your sniper for taking the shot. I knew what was going on, knew I was fucked. I would have made the same decision in your place. Besides, since we’ve started dating, you’ve never tried to hurt me. You’ve only ever tried to help me.”

“Not that you ever accept help,” Geoff says, feeling tired and defeated and horrible. 

The corners of Ryan’s lips twitch downwards. “I felt awful,” he admits. “Like accepting your money was mooching off of you somehow. Especially when we were technically enemies, once. I don’t know. I just could never be comfortable with it.”

There’s a gap between them. There’s a horrible space between them that Geoff doesn’t know how to cross. Geoff’s orders, his money, and tonight’s events stand between them like a physical wall, and Geoff doesn’t know how to break it down. He has to find a way to make the foundations of the wall disappear, or at least make them not _matter_ so much anymore.

In the end, there’s really only one thing he can do.

Geoff fidgets. “I…I want to pay for surgery for your knee,” he says slowly. “I know you don’t like accepting help, or money. I _know_. It’s just,” he puts his head in his hands, tugs at his hair, tries to articulate what he’s trying to say. “It’s not about—feeling _guilty_, exactly, though that’s there now, too. I just.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself, looks Ryan in the eye again. “I want you to be happy and healthy,” he says. “You mean the world to me and I hate seeing you in pain. I want you to feel _better_. Larry can fix you up.”

Ryan, to his credit, doesn’t turn him down outright. “Larry is only here to fix up your crew,” he points out carefully.

“Well there’s a pretty obvious solution to _that_,” Geoff says. “Join my crew.”

Geoff’s heart hammers wildly in his chest as Ryan pauses and actually mulls it over. Not only has he broken the wall between them with a sledgehammer, he’s somehow managed to start making a bridge out of the pieces. It’s up to Ryan to meet him halfway, but he’s _so close_.

Ryan sighs. “I _did_ just mow down an entire gang to rescue you, and then drive my very well-known vehicle into your garage,” he says, something close to embarrassment coloring his voice.

“You sure did,” Geoff agrees, a smile lifting his lips.

“Ah, fuck it,” Ryan says, resigned. “I was getting bored with IT anyways.”

And that’s that. Geoff surges forward to grab Ryan’s face in both hands and kisses him soundly, laughing with relief against Ryan’s lips. It’s okay. They’ve still got a hell of a mountain to cross together, but they’re okay.

Ryan tugs him downstairs after a few minutes, fusses over the bruises from getting the shit kicked out of him. They shower together, Ryan puts butterfly bandages on a couple of cuts on his face, Geoff tugs a knee brace onto Ryan’s bad leg, and they climb into bed.

Ryan lets Geoff hold him, too. He snuggles up and rests his head on Geoff’s chest, and Geoff thinks he might be listening to his heartbeat.

He knows the feeling.

“I love you,” Geoff murmurs.

Ryan squeezes him gently, mindful of the bruises. “I love you, too.”

And thank _fuck_, they’re okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So, to all the people who told me that they thought Ryan would be the Vagabond, and I gave you a very vague answer? Now you know why. Your guesses were correct =D
> 
> I knew the Vagabond plot twist was coming, and so did most of you. My goal was to make a plot twist you DIDN'T see coming--hence the reveal of how Ryan's knee was injured. I hope it worked! haha
> 
> I have been so excited to share this chapter and yet now that it's here, I'm not thrilled with it. It still seems messy to me. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff gets an unexpected surprise and watches the ensuing chaos with glee, because this is his life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is finally here!!!

** _Two years later…_ **

“Hey, man.”

The voice startles Geoff. He’d seen Gavin walk into the heist room and plop down almost violently into a chair at his side, but he hadn’t paid much attention to him or the person behind him. And that voice…he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Ray?” Geoff looks up and _grins_, because holy _shit_ he’s glad to see that kid again.

Ray stands before him, nearly untouched by the years he’s been gone. He still wears that damn purple hoodie, pink rifle slung across his shoulder, a multicolored beanie sat atop his head. He’s grinning, too.

Geoff nearly launches out of his chair to hug him. “What’re you doing here?” He asks, because Ray _left_ them, years ago, said he’d never come back.

Ray shrugs. “Eh. I had a lull in work, and Gavin needed help with a job, so,” he spreads his hands out in a _what can you do_ kind of gesture. “Thought I’d come back and visit.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Geoff says, even though he knows Ray won’t visit much. He hasn’t so far. “Have you said hello to everyone yet?”

Gavin shakes his head. “We passed Jack on the way up here and Michael was on the job with us, but I brought him to you first.”

“So he hasn’t seen Rimmy Tim?” Geoff asks, knowing Gavin will catch on to the fact that Jeremy is on a job with _Ryan_ right now, both of them due back to report any minute. Gavin’s eyes go wide and his lips pull together in an expression that clearly says, _oh shit_. And yeah, _shit_, if the Vagabond walks in while Ray is here…

Ray shakes his head. “Nah, I heard you guys got a bunch of new hires after I left, though. Can’t wait to meet ‘em.”

Geoff trades a glance with Gavin. “Yeah,” Geoff says, biting back a grin, “they can’t wait to meet you either.”

And Ray looks suspicious at that, because he _should_ be, but he doesn’t take the bait. He just lets Geoff lead him into the common room, lets him and Gavin distract him with conversation until the Battle Buddies get home from a job. They spend a pleasant afternoon reminiscing about old jobs and swapping stories about their more recent endeavors. And if Geoff checks his phone more often than usual, nobody mentions it.

Jack joins them at one point, biting back a grin when she says, “Battle Buddies are on their way. They’re only delayed because they wrecked their motorcycle in the middle of a pursuit.” Geoff’s heart twists painfully at that, but he knows that if either were seriously hurt, he would have heard about it immediately. They’ll be fine, he reassures himself.

Ray raises a brow. He’s familiar enough with the Fakes that he clearly knows “Battle Buddies” is a team name, but he has no way of knowing who it is. “Battle Buddies?” He echoes.

“Jeremy and Ryan,” Jack clarifies for him.

The explanation doesn’t help Ray. “I know who Jeremy is,” he says slowly, “who’s Ryan?”

“Geoff’s boyfriend,” Gavin says, not even trying to dial back his sharklike grin. Geoff hates him a little bit.

Ray jerks in his seat. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Jack and Gavin just laugh, damn them, but Geoff can’t stop the dopey grin from spreading across his face. “I managed to convince my civilian boyfriend to join the Fake AH,” he admits. And it’s not the whole story, no, but it’s infinitely satisfying to watch Ray’s eyes blow wide.

“Jesus _Christ_, Geoff,” Ray says, taken aback. “_How_?”

Geoff shrugs and leans back. “I’m just that smooth,” he says, ignoring the burst of cackling from Jack and Gavin. The full story will get out before the night’s over, he knows, but he wants to savor this. So he settles back to watch, drumming his fingers against his knee as he waits for Ryan to come upstairs.

Jeremy comes up first. “We got ‘em,” he says cheerfully, “do you want a report now or later?” And Geoff’s a little relieved—Jeremy doesn’t look injured, despite the obvious scuff marks. They can’t have wrecked the motorcycle too badly.

“Later,” Geoff says, because Ray just turned around and choked on his spit when he saw Jeremy’s outfit. “Ray’s here, by the way.”

Jeremy stops to wave. “Oh hey, man. Nice to see you again.”

Ray doesn’t wave back as he usually would, too busy staring at the orange-and-purple walking fashion disaster. “What the _fuck_, man?” He manages at last.

Jeremy grins. “Rimmy Tim,” he says, tipping his hat, “nice to meet ya.”

Ray looks at Geoff, expression dry. “The roster must’ve gotten real dry after I left,” he says, a grin threatening to take over his face, “Jesus _Christ_ you people are insane.”

And Jeremy just laughs brightly, completely unoffended. Geoff supposes Ryan’s about-face when he’d first encountered Jeremy in his full getup was much more insulting, and the two are practically best friends. Ray’s reaction is gentle in comparison.

_Speaking_ of Ryan, the Vagabond chooses that moment to ascend. Ray’s already turned around to look at Jeremy, so Geoff gets a glorious view of Ray’s face the moment he sees Ryan walk out of the elevator. He’s scuffed up from wrecking his bike, his signature Vagabond jacket is splattered with some poor idiot’s blood, and he’s _whistling_ as he steps into the room. And there’s no way he doesn’t notice the way the entire room quiets and stares at him, but he ignores it and makes a beeline for Geoff.

“Hey,” Geoff greets, grinning.

Ryan leans down and pecks him on the lips, both of them careful not to smear his facepaint. “Hey,” he says, and Geoff’s heart leaps at how _happy_ Ryan sounds. “Everything good?” He asks, because the room is still completely silent and watching him. Or, more accurately, watching _Ray_ watch him.

Geoff’s grin widens. “Ray came to visit,” he says, watching Ryan’s face for the exact moment realization hits him. Ryan’s face rarely betrays anything, especially with the facepaint on, but he can see the reaction in his eyes. They flicker once, never leaving Geoff’s face, before a smug little smirk stretches across his face.

“Oh,” he says, leaning back out of Geoff’s space. The smirk is wiped away, replaced with a politely blank expression, eyes twinkling. He turns around to look at Ray. “Nice to meet you,” Ryan says, reaching over to shake Ray’s hand. Ray, for his part, seems too stunned to react. He dazedly shakes Ryan’s hand without a word. Ryan smiles, this innocent little quirk of his lips, and he says, “I’ve seen some of your work before. It's impressive.”

Somebody chokes. Geoff’s not sure who, too enraptured by the scene before him to look away. He jams a hand across his mouth to cover his grin.

“Uhh,” Ray manages, “thanks?”

Ryan’s smile widens briefly to something sharp and dangerous and Geoff wants to cry, because Ryan’s such a little _shit_ sometimes. “I need to clean up,” he says, letting go of Ray’s hand to gesture at the blood splattered all over himself, “but it was nice meeting you!” He nods once at Geoff, fist bumps Jeremy, and heads downstairs without another word.

A dam breaks. The room erupts into laugher, and Geoff’s pretty sure his own laugh is the loudest of all. He can’t see Ray or anything else because he has tears streaming down his cheeks from the force of his laughter, but he hears Gavin squeak something about the cameras. And good _god_, he hopes the moment was caught on camera, because he wants to be able to relive it for the rest of his life.

Geoff stands and pats Ray on the shoulder as he passes. He’d offer an apology or reassurance if he could, but he’s still laughing too hard to get anything resembling words out of his mouth, so he just heads downstairs to help Ryan clean up.

“You are _such_ a little shit,” Geoff manages at last, stepping into his and Ryan’s room.

Ryan shrugs out of his blood-splattered jacket and grins. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, but he’s still grinning.

Geoff cackles. “Did you see his _face_?” He flops on the bed.

And Ryan just laughs. “I did!” They laugh together for a few moments, Ryan slowly removing his gear and tossing it into the laundry bin. He hisses when he gets to his jeans, though, and the sound wipes the smile from Geoff’s face.

“Jack said you guys wrecked your bike. Are you okay? How’s the knee?” Geoff asks, sitting up quickly to look him over.

Ryan wrinkles his nose. “It held up okay,” he says, “it just hurts a bit. I should probably take it easy for a couple days. I’ll ice it tonight.”

“But it held?” Geoff asks.

Ryan nods. “It held.”

And _shit_. Geoff breathes a deep sigh of relief. Larry’s surgery had done wonders for Ryan’s knee, but the recovery has been a long one. Ryan’s finally gotten to the point where he no longer needs the cane to walk for long periods of time. Running can be a chore sometimes, especially if it’s uphill or on uneven ground, but he’s shown his resilience in recent heists where they’ve all had to leg it. He’s gotten so much _better_, but that doesn’t mean he’s invincible. Taking a spill from a motorcycle could spell disaster if he landed wrong.

But he didn’t land wrong. _He’s okay_, Geoff thinks. He’s okay.

“Shit, dude,” Geoff says at last. “You had me worried.”

Ryan leans over and pecks him on the lips. “You’re driving tonight, is all,” he says, and that’s fair. If his knee hurts, driving a manual will only make it worse.

“Where am I driving you?” Geoff asks, lips twitching up into a smile.

Ryan hums and makes his way into the bathroom to wash the facepaint off. “How about that fancy steak place downtown?” He suggests. Geoff meets his eyes in the mirror, heart leaping when he sees Ryan’s lopsided grin. “It’s on me.”

Geoff harrumphs. “Technically it’s on _me_, because I just paid you for tonight’s job.”

_“Technically_ it’s on Trevor,” Ryan points out, “because you’re not the boss anymore.”

True. Still, Geoff scowls at the jab. “Fuck _you_,” he hisses, swatting Ryan as he walks into the closet to change.

“Mm, maybe later,” Ryan says, “food first. Boyfriend second.”

Geoff sighs and casts his gaze heavenward, mentally counting to five. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Ryan says, joining him in the walk-in closet. He leans down and pecks Geoff on the lips again, just to prove his point.

So Geoff amends his statement from nearly three years ago. He’s finally handed his responsibilities to Trevor. The Fake AH Crew are solidified as the top of the food chain in Los Santos, especially with the Vagabond on their side. His boyfriend moved in with him, finally, and is as physically recovered as he’s going to get. Goddamn, his life has never been more perfect. _And,_ it’s Friday.

He has a date. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you all. Thank you for reading, and for sticking with me for the last six weeks as I posted this story. This is officially the longest thing I've ever written. While it's been a LOT of work, much more than I'm used to, it's been worth it to get to hear your reactions in the comments every week. The plot twist, the gooey scenes, the general chaos of the Fakes--everything had a reaction via comment, and I cannot thank you all enough. I live for your comments, especially since the last few weeks have been horrifically difficult at home and school. This story, and talking to all of you, has kept me going for the last six weeks. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. 
> 
> I have exams and papers due in the next few weeks, so I won't be posting anything new for a month or more. I have plenty more WIPs to look out for, though. I'm not leaving forever =)
> 
> Again, thank you. <3


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